


No Time for Goodbye

by darkbluebox



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Anime, End of the World, M/M, Multi, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, aot - Freeform, attack on titan - Freeform, idiots who just need to kiss already, jeanmarco, snk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbluebox/pseuds/darkbluebox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world wrecked by zombies, Jean and Marco find themselves fighting for their lives, for their future, but mostly for each other. The past is hard to escape, but the present isn't much easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Zombieland

-Transmission from Base Rose, October 12th, 1:07am-

_Widespread outbreaks of 2 nd stage Virus Titanius reported in Carria and surrounding settlements._

_Estimated thousands of civilians at risk; base in full lockdown until reliable quarantine measures can be implemented._

_Hopefully it is not already too late._

-Message Ends-

 

***

 

Marco’s first term at college hadn’t entirely gone to plan. If he had to pinpoint the exact moment at which things had started going wrong, he would say it was when a horde of ravenous, flesh-hungry lunatics- which he refused to call zombies- stormed the main campus.

 

And really it had only gone downhill from there.

 

Now his life consisted of barricading his apartment, occasionally crawling out through the window to grab twinkies from the shop next door, and trying not to scream as he was inevitably chased back to his flat by slavering maniacs with blood dripping from their lips. The electricity had been out for about a while now, which only made the nights worse. He could hear them outside in the streets, usually a cacophony of animalistic snarls and howls occasionally punctuated with a scream or gunfire as some poor soul got unlucky. The first time he had considered going to see if he could help. Stupidly suicidal thoughts like that came less often now.

 

Most of all though, he missed other people. He had always been a bit of a loner, but now that everyone he saw was trying to kill him he kind of missed people. But he still wasn’t desperate enough to go out looking for them- he hadn’t survived this long by being reckless. He decided to focus on small tasks, one thing at a time. Number one was food: that was a consistent problem. There was only so long he could live on twinkies, but going further than the shop next door meant higher risk.  The second was trying to find a way to charge his phone. He had read somewhere that you could make a battery from potatoes and wire. Or was it lemons?

 

Either way he needed to find a way to phone home. He needed to know if his parents and sister were safe. It was what kept him going. It was home he thought of late at night when he could hear the scraping of nails on his window or bumps and thumps from the hall outside his flat.

 

That was his life until one morning he heard a noise that he didn’t usually hear from the street outside. A voice.

 

“WILL YOU PLEASE JUST _FUCK OFF_?!”

 

Marco dashed over to his window. He was on the ground floor with a great view of the square, and he could see what looked like a normal human with five definitely not-normal humans on his tail. Marco stared, mouth open, as the guy ran in a wide loop around the courtyard. The pursuers, clearly not smart enough to realise they were literally going around in circles, were sprinting after him with arms outstretched and mouths hanging open.

 

The man would occasionally slow to fire a shot from his gun, but Marco doubted he could kill them all before they caught him. Suddenly Marco realised he was standing there doing nothing when he could help.

 

He brought his fist up to hammer on the window. The man’s head snapped around. Marco gestured wildly with his hands and the man nodded comprehendingly. As he turned towards the house Marco began scrabbling with the lock on the window. As the guy reached the building Marco’s window slid up just in time for him to dive through. Marco slammed the window back down immediately and there was a sickening crunch. He looked down to see several crushed and thoroughly disfigured fingers trapped between the window and the frame. The owner, who had once been blonde and probably female, was screeching on the other side of the window and seemingly trying to head-butt her way through the glass. This left ugly splatters of blood on the glass that Marco knew would be a pain to remove.

 

“Help me get this locked!” Marco screamed without looking around. Suddenly there was another pair of hands working with him, and another loud crack as the window snapped through the fingers entirely. Marco shakenly put the lock on, refusing to breathe until he was sure he was safe. Finally he let out a long breath of air and leaned back heavily against the wall.

 

He looked for the first time at the man he had rescued. He was gasping for air with his hands on his knees. His hair was light brown with an undercut in need of trimming and his clothes would have been fashionable if they weren’t wrecked and covered in dirt. Then the man straightened up and Marco realised he knew him.

 

“J…Jean?!”

 

“Um, yeah, do I know…?” his voice trailed away. “Holy shit…Marco!” His face paled. So did Marco’s.

 

_Great_. Thought Marco. _It’s the end of the world and I’ve just trapped myself in my flat with my ex._

_Oh, and now I’ve got some severed fingers to clean up now too._

***

 

Before Jean, Marco’s high school years had been pretty mediocre. He had just kind of drifted, smart enough to make sure he didn’t attract any attention from the teachers but not so smart that the bullies took notice. He hadn’t joined any clubs or cliques, just hanging out comfortably at the fringe of school life. But then Jean, king of the jocks, had descended from on high and taken him under his wing. And it had been great. They had done everything together, all the time. Marco had even started making other friends, just by hanging around with Jean’s. And, at one party, when they had been even drunker than usual… things had gone further.

 

Marco hadn’t been expecting it, and he doubted Jean had either. But he hadn’t exactly had a close friend before, let alone a girlfriend… so maybe it hadn’t been that surprising after all.

 

They didn’t talk about it after. Eventually Marco just assumed Jean had been too drunk to remember anything. Until the next party. When it happened again. Then the one after that.

 

It became… something a little too addictive to be called a habit. Marco knew what they were doing wasn’t healthy. He didn’t know much about relationships, but he knew they weren’t supposed to go like this. And the amount of alcohol involved each time was…worrying, to say the least. But every time Jean would mention the next party a friend of a friend was throwing, Marco’s resolve shattered. Before he knew it he would find himself curled up on a stranger’s couch surrounded by empty bottles and Jean sitting opposite him. Jean would look over, with those amber eyes swimming in alcohol, and Marco would melt. He would let himself be lead somewhere else, a quiet room where hopefully nobody would come stumbling in. Where, in the dark, he would feel the tough, irritable jock become soft and gentle under his touch. And when he came around the next morning in an empty room with his head pounding he would try to match that vulnerable man who clung to him so desperately in the night with his idiot friend who flirted with girls in the cafeteria and dreamed of ivy-league college.

 

It had lasted about three months before everything came crashing down around them. Marco still remembered the end-of-term party. Everything had gone as it always did, with the drinks and the look and the dark room- until their luck had run out. Someone walked in on them. He still remembered Jeans face- the anger, the fear, the _shame_.  Then came the denial. It was futile anyway- after the party the word spread like wildfire. Marco spent the break hiding in his room, leaving only for food (kind of how it was now, really, minus all the crazy people) and terrified of returning to school.

Except when school started back, Jean wasn’t there anymore. None of his friends knew where he had gone- and from the looks they gave Marco, they knew what had happened and didn’t want anything to do with either of them anymore. Marco’s world crumbled. He was right back at the start again, except now the bullies knew his name and there was a hole inside him he couldn’t get rid of.

 

His best friend had abandoned him without as much as a goodbye.

 

And now the same man was crouching in his flat, gasping for breath, his clothes torn to shreds and his face drenched in sweat.

 

Marco hadn’t thought the end of the world could have been any worse. Boy, had he been wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten points for every zombie film/ fandom reference you can spot throughout this fic (The reason it took Tallahassee so long to find a twinkie was because Marco ate them all)  
> I'm just going to apologise for all the zombie cliches that are going to come up; I am unoriginal trash :3  
> I have many ~slightly evil~ ideas for where I could go with this, but if you have any ideas/suggestions/criticisms pleaaaase share :)


	2. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Digging up the past is never a good plan.

Jean had had better days. Sure, none of them recently, but still. Of all the people’s houses to crash, it had to have been _him._ Of course. The idiot had barely changed at all, same freckles, same mop of brown hair-

 

“You have braces.”

 

It seemed a pretty lame statement under the circumstances.

 

Marco wrinkled his nose in irritation. God, Jean had forgotten how he used to do that.

 

“You're alive.” Marco said at last.

   
  
 _Wow._ Thought Jean. _This isn't awkward at ALL._

“Uh yeah, I guess…” Jean trailed away. “Ok, I'm sorry but can you close the curtains or something because that is _really_ distracting.” He gestured at the crazy blonde still scraping away at the window.

 

Marco awkwardly drew his curtains across. Jean recognised them as the same ones Marco used to have in his room. There was a pang of guilt. _Oh no._ He told himself sternly.  _Don't start feeling things. Not again. It brings nothing but trouble._

 

“Still hanging onto the Spongebob Squarepants curtains?” Jean asked mockingly.

 

“Shut up.” Said Marco, moving across the room to turn on the light. He flicked the switch a couple times before sighing in irritation. “Damn. I keep forgetting the electricity’s out.”

 

Jean shrugged. He got up and sauntered across the room, flopping down on the couch.

 

“Have you got anything to eat?”

 

“ _Seriously?!_ ”

 

“Hey, I've just exercised. I’m hungry.” Jean stretched until his spine cracked.

Marco wandered off, grumbling, to rootle around in his fridge. _Why is he even bothering to keep food there_ wondered Jean irritably. _It’s not as if the thing’s working._

 

“I have twinkies… or twinkies...or twinkies.” Said Marco.

 

“I hate twinkies” Jean grumbled.

 

“Shut up and eat a twinkie” said Marco, hurling one at his stomach like a football.

 

Jean ate the twinkie.

 

Marco sat opposite him, his expression stormy. Jean didn’t really blame him.

 

“So.” Marco began with a voice like ice. “How've you been?”

 

“Now? You really want to do this now?”

 

Marco shrugged. “You’re the one crashing my place”

 

“Shouldn't have let me in then.”

 

“I didn't recognise you at first.”

 

Jean refused to admit that that stung. Would Marco have helped him if he had known it was Jean?

 

Jean looked down at his wristwatch. There was a large crack across it now, but it still did the job.

 

“What have you got in terms of weapons?” He asked, glancing Marco up and down. No sign of a gun. And he'd gotten taller. Was he- taller than Jean now? No. No way. Impossible.

 

Marco shrugged. “I run fast.”

 

Jean stared at him. “You have survived this far into a zombie apocalypse- with _no weapons_?!”

 

Marco shrugged again, folding his arms. He didn't seem to feel like talking.

 

“Well shit.” Jean pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

 

“Don't you _dare_  smoke in here.”

 

Jean returned the packet. “Neat freak”

 

“At least I look as though I've changed my clothes in the last month.”

 

Jean almost smiled. Almost. There they were, slipping back into their old patterns- bickering, name calling- Jean could almost pretend it was High School again, only before everything got so fucked up.

 

_Don’t get nostalgic, idiot._ He scolded himself. _Thinking about back then will help no one._

 

“Listen” Said Jean, sitting up and scattering twinkie crumbs over Marco’s carpet. Marco visibly twitched. “My ride’s going to be here in about ten minutes…” Something flickered behind Marco’s eyes, something Jean couldn't quite identify. “…I'll be out of your hair by then, I swear. So if you could maybe restrain from feeding me to the zombies until then, that would be great.”

 

Marco grimaced. “Don't call them zombies.”

 

“But they are!” Jean frowned in puzzlement. “Creepy, crazy, infection through biting- it’s about as zombie as you can get!” Jean watched Marco’s expression carefully. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

 

“Just- don't- call them that!” Marco spat through clenched teeth.

 

Jean studied the man opposite him. “Marco… how long have you been on your own here?”

 

“I’m not crazy.”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.”

 

They both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

 

“How’s… how’s your family, Marco? Have you heard anything?” Jean had vague memories of a kind, warm woman and a little freckled girl who was the spitting image of Marco. Considering Marco was sitting alone in a flat going funny with cabin fever, it didn't look good.

 

“I… called and called. When all this first started. There wasn't an answer.” Suddenly his eyes lit up with feverish intensity. “But I've got a plan. I’m going to find a way to charge my phone. And then I’ll call them again, as much as I have to. They'll pick up. Sooner or later they will.”

 

Jean stared at him. “Yeah… that sounds great, Marco.” He decided to let Marco keep clinging onto his obviously flawed plan. Hell knew they all needed something to hang onto.

 

“What about… yours?” Marco asked tentatively.

 

Jean was impressed. It almost sounded as though Marco cared. He shrugged. “I don’t know. We weren't exactly on the best terms anyway.” Without realising he stroked his thumb over the watch that had once been his fathers, feeling the ridge of the crack against his skin.

 

“Yeah, I figured.”

 

Jean raised a questioning eyebrow.

 

“I went over to your house a few times. You know, after you vanished off the face of the earth. To ask your parents about you. Or if I just felt like getting a door in the face.”

 

Jean’s eyes widened. Marco had- asked after him?

 

Something clenched painfully in his stomach.

 

“Marco, I…”

 

“Don’t Jean.” Marco looked at him and for less than a second Jean saw the pain beneath the anger. It burned like acid. What had he done to the innocent, cheerful kid he met in High School? What had he done to Marco?

 

“Just don't” Marco whispered.

 

There was a frantic beeping from the square outside, and the screech of tyres.

 

“My ride.” Said Jean, rising from his seat. Marco stood too.

 

_Shit._ Thought Jean. _He_ is _taller than me. Bastard!_

 

“I…” Jean faltered. There was a gunshot, and yelling. “I better be going.”

 

“It was nice seeing you.” Marco said, flopping onto the couch. “Close the window on your way out, if you don't mind.”

 

He looked pretty pathetic really, just sitting there. Staring at the TV as if he was trying to imagine Friends or The Simpsons was playing on the screen. Something from a more innocent time.

 

Jean bit his lip. _Dammit Jean, don’t you dare. Go now. Just leave. Turn away and slam the door- window. Whatever._

He pulled the curtains open. Crazy Blonde, along with a few friends, was now chasing a green minivan which was circling the square. A panicked looking blond was at the wheel and a brunette who looked crazier than the zombies was practically hanging out the passenger window, firing shots apparently at random. A hand emerged from nowhere and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back into the van. The horn sounded again.

 

He glanced back at Marco, who was acting as though he had never been there.

 

“Dammit. _Dammit._ ” Jean dashed back towards Marco. He grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up from the couch.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Taking you with me!”

 

“Who said I wanted to go?”

 

“Fine. You have three seconds. Sit in your living room staring at a blank screen and slowly going crazy for the rest of your life or come with me right now. Choose. Three…”

 

Marco stared at him, cheeks flushed, mouth a little open.

 

“Two…”

 

Jean still hadn't loosened his grip on Marco’s collar.

 

“One…”

 

Marco opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a camper van crashing through the wall.

 

Goddam it Armin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Armin screaming "thug life" in the distance *
> 
> Marco is very not ok and neither am I. He's had a very challenging day. (Spoiler: it's not going to get any better)
> 
> I'm trying to give each chapter a name that kinda links to a zombie movie, but I don't know that many D: I need to watch some more zombie movies actually, anybody know any good ones? 
> 
> I already have the next chapter written, just needs to be edited :) (Hint: feedback motivates me!)
> 
> Thank you for reading this far, I can't describe how much fun I'm having :D


	3. The Mystery Machine Gang in Grand Theft Zombie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward introductions and lots of shouting.

Marco wouldn't say he was a complete neat freak- as Jean had so kindly put it- but he did have certain standards about the state of his flat. No smoking, no food crumbs on the floor, all the walls intact- just little things like that. On the upside, he didn't have to worry about cleaning blood off the window now. This being due to the fact that the window, and a good part of the wall, had been replaced by a now very dented green minivan. Sprawled on the floor and half buried under concrete Marco had an excellent view of the front bumper. Beside him Jean was scrambling to his feet, alternating between coughing and swearing.

 

Marco was about to climb to his feet as well when he felt something clawing at his ankle. He shrieked, scrambling backwards into the surrounding rubble. From underneath the van a hand reached out, clawing frantically at Marco’s leg. This was followed by a waist and a torso, and that’s where the person ended in a bloody mess of innards. The half-person grinned at him manically, eyes pointing in different directions. It scrambled forwards, trying to pull its face closer to Marco’s leg, when there was a deafening bang and its head exploded in front of him in a mess of blood. Marco looked up at Jean, who was standing over him, rifle smoking.

 

“Are you coming or what?!” Jean yelled.

 

Marco didn't need to look around his destroyed flat to know he didn't have much choice. Jean was right. Solitude didn't suit him well.

 

“Let’s go!” Marco yelled, scrambling to his feet. Jean flashed a grin at him, and something in Marco’s chest jumped. Oh, how well he remembered that grin.

 

They both climbed into the van. Marco didn't have time to glance at the strangers around him, because he was too busy being jolted around as the vehicle sped off backwards. There were several loud thumps as the van reversed over something that sounded distinctly body-like. Marco grimaced.

 

“Hey Armin, I asked you to pick me up, not run me over!” Jean hollered at the short blond boy behind the wheel.

 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures!” The guy shouted back in a high voice. “I hope you all have your seatbelts on back there, this is going to get rough!”

 

The van swung around, and Marco could see out of the front window at least a dozen of them- more than he'd ever seen in one place.

 

Marco fastened his seatbelt.

 

“It’s Christmas!” Yelled the brown haired boy riding shotgun with a manic laugh. “Mikasa, give me back my gun!”

 

“NO!” screamed everyone except Marco.

 

“I WILL CLIMB OUT OF THIS VAN AND FIGHT THEM EMPTY HANDED, JUST WATCH ME!”

 

“Yeager, I will knock you out if I have to!” Jean yelled, reaching into the front seat and grabbing Eren by the collar. The van swerved to the side violently and Jean tumbled forwards, landing on top of Marco.

 

“Could you all shut up?! It’s hard enough driving as it is!” Yelled Armin. From the back of the van there was a shriek.

 

“Connie fell on the yogurt and it’s gone _everywhere_!” Howled a red haired girl.

 

Marco wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He had boarded a van with a group of complete _nutters._

 

In the front seat the guy- Yeager- was trying to simultaneously fight off Jean and wind down his window at the same time.

 

“COME AND GET US, YOU UNDEAD BASTARDS!”

 

“Mikasa, he’s doing it again!” howled Armin.

 

There was a blur of dark hair as a girl rushed past Marco to the front of the vehicle, pushing Jean back on top of Macro which blocked Marco's vision completely. There was a yell and a thump.

 

“You're sitting in the back with me.” Said a female voice, the irritation beneath it unmistakable.

 

“I found an opening!” said Armin triumphantly. There was a loud thump and the van jolted violently again. There was a sound of metal scraping against metal and Marco felt their speed picking up. Jean finally scrambled off Marco, his face bright red.

 

A bald head splattered with yogurt popped up behind Marco. “Who the Hell is this, Jean?”

 

Now the crazy one was under Mikasa’s control and they were driving over open ground the van’s occupants seemed to have settled down. Marco suddenly noticed the looks he was receiving, ranging from curious to hostile. Right at the back were the redhead and the bald one, both dripping with yogurt. In front of them was an Asian girl with long dark hair, the one they called Mikasa. She had a tight grip on the crazy one, Yeager, who was snarling and wriggling under her grasp. Jean was opposite Marco, and in the front was Armin, who despite no longer yelling, still looked ready to have a heart attack at any given moment.

 

“He’s an old…friend. From High School. He rescued me.” Supplied Jean.

   
 _Friend._ Marco thought bitterly. _Some friend._

“We agreed we couldn't take any more people.” Said Mikasa coolly. “We're going to struggle to make it there as it is.”

 

“I let you keep Yeager!”

 

The minivan exploded into argument, but Marco was barely listening. He wondered if he had gone into shock. This was too much for one day. But aside from the reappearance of Jean and the van through his wall what really shocked him was- had Jean… had Jean just stood up for him?

 

“Fine! Fine! So we're all in agreement.” Jean shouted, and the group quietened once more. Marco suddenly realised he really should have been listening. Were they about to toss him out onto the street? He clenched his fists.

 

“You can come with us, if you want. It seems only fair considering _someone_ trashed your place.” Jean threw a pointed look at Armin. “Seriously, Armin, you don't even look old enough to drive.”

 

“I have my licence” Armin pointed out testily. “And anyway, I think being pulled over by the cops is the least of our problems right now.”

 

“Ok, I'll do introductions.” Jean began. “Welcome to the Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine. Up front we have Armin, or Velma if you prefer, the brains of the operation.”

 

“Yeah, hi.” Said Armin without taking his eyes off the road.

 

“You know me, of course.” Jean continued. “I’m Fred, because I'm the hot one. Up back we have Shaggy and Scooby- also known as Sasha and Connie - who between them are going to eat our entire food supply.”

 

Sasha rolled her eyes. “You're never going to forgive us for that bacon, are you?”

 

“I'd been looking forward to that for ages, and you two ate it _all_.”

 

Sasha rolled her eyes, and Connie stifled a giggle.

 

“And Mikasa here is our beautiful Daphne!” Said Jean, winking at her. Mikasa gave him a look that could have withered plants. Marco sighed. Jean really hadn't changed a bit.

 

“Who am I?” asked the angry one.

 

“Oh, yeah, this is Eren. He can be Scrappy. Because he’s annoying and nobody likes him.”

 

“Cram it, horse-face!”

 

The pair lunged at each other, but were immediately pulled apart by Mikasa, who was wearing a pained expression. Marco could sympathise.

 

“So yeah, everyone, meet Marco. Marco, everyone.”

 

Marco nodded at them, feeling his face flush red. Apparently even the end of the world hadn’t cured his shyness.

 

The hostile looks had vanished, although Mikasa was still watching Marco curiously.

 

“So, um…” Marco realised he had forgotten to ask a few key questions. Such as-

 

“So where are we actually going?”

 

Eren and Jean stopped bickering. Sasha, who had been wiping yogurt off Connie’s head, froze.

 

“You got into a van with a load of strangers” Said Mikasa “With no idea where you were going, or who with… just because some guy you knew in High School asked you to?”

 

“I…I…” For less than a second, Jean and Marco’s eyes met. “…yeah.”

 

Mikasa glanced between Jean and Marco, her eyes giving nothing away.

 

“Well that was dumb.” Said Eren tactlessly.

 

“So…where _are_ we going?” Marco asked again.

 

“Easy.” Said Jean, a grin spreading over his face. “We’re going north. To safety.”

 

***

 

Marco figured they were still skirting around the edges of town, sticking to suburban areas where there were fewer cars blocking the road up. On the other hand this meant it would take a lot longer to get out of the city.

 

As afternoon turned into evening, Marco had more time to find out more about the team he had- for better or for worse- joined.

 

“…and so this chick is still pedalling, right, but the zombie’s hair is caught in the bike chain, so she’s cycling for his life and this head is just spinning around and around and smacking off the ground as she goes, blood spraying _everywhere…_ ”

 

Eren sure had a sick sense of humour when it came to… _(Zombies)_

_NO!_ Marco jerked upright. _Not zombies. People. PEOPLE._ Marco’s mind suddenly filled with the image of the half-person crawling towards him, and suddenly reeling backwards as Jean blew its head off. Marco remembered the sick expression of triumph on Jean’s face. How could they all laugh and swap stories as though those people were- were- hunting trophies?!

 

It was as though they had given up hope for finding the cure to the disease that had turned these innocent people into…into…

 

Marco felt as though he was going to be sick. Sasha’s driving (she was taking a turn at the wheel) wasn't helping.

 

“Hey.” Said a gentle voice.

 

Oh great. Exactly what Marco _didn’t_ need.

 

“You look kind of… I dunno.” Said Jean. Marco felt a sudden need to laugh. Words had never been Jean’s strong point.

 

Marco bit his lip. Some horrible shit had gone down between him and Jean in the past. Shit he was neither willing nor able to forget. But it seemed he would be with these guys for a while. He had to put it to the back of his mind. For now, at least.

 

“I know you think I'm crazy. For not wanting to call them z…zombies. But…” Marco sighed. “I just can't detach myself the way you all seem to have.”

 

Jean’s expression darkened. “Well. You've been cooped up in your flat for a while. Other people have been surviving. They've seen too much now. You can’t keep your empathy and your sanity once you've gone past a certain point. You have to choose.”

 

Jean’s eyes burned into the opposite wall of the minivan. Marco tried not to imagine the awful things he was probably thinking about.

 

“Don’t change, Marco.” Jean sighed eventually.

 

“W-what?”

 

“You… you’re still good. You still _care_ so much. I envy you.”

 

Marco was about to protest, but the words died on his lips. Jean was right. He had been shielded, holed up in his flat. He saw now, looking more closely at the others in the van, the little signs of all they had seen. A laugh that was a little too loud. A hand that trembled. Eyes that never stopped moving, forever fearing attack.

 

“Jean…?” Marco tried, and failed, to keep the fear out of his voice. He closed his eyes and brought his elbows up to rest on his knees so he could lean his chin on his hands.

 

“It’s ok, Marco.”  Jean’s hand came to rest on his back. Marco forced himself to not react.

 

“Marco…?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Marco didn't ask what Jean was talking about. There were too many things he could be apologising for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island was always my favourite I have no regrets
> 
> Jean was so close to the "come-with-me-if-you-want-to-live" line that i had to drive a minivan through the wall to advert the massive cliche 
> 
> Coming up next: Lots of angst and backstory
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and/or feedback :)


	4. Dusk of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life's hard when you're Jean Kirstein.

Their plan was simple. Shortly after all this zombie apocalypse crap had gone down, there had been a short radio transmission. Jean had been lucky, really: he had been twiddling the dial for ages, desperate for some news, some sign of life out there that wasn’t trying to kill him. What he got was a message which had simply declared:

 

_Base Rose secure. Strict quarantine measures in place. Surrounding area decimated. Shiganshina district is lost. Repeat: Shiganshina district is lost._

That was the last thing anyone had heard on the radio anywhere. Jean had never heard of any “Base Rose” so the message was meaningless to him

 

For a while Jean had simply been surviving. He learnt how to fight. He learnt how to use a gun. He learnt not to react when he saw a rotting corpse lying in the street, or a toy doll splattered with blood. He learnt not to feel.

 

Eventually he bumped into a couple other survivors, which became a couple more, which became the group they were now. This was when the transmission he heard resurfaced in his mind.

 

Amazingly, Armin, through God-knew-what connections, knew of Base Rose. That night they huddled around a map in an empty but defendable house, studying intently by torchlight the route north.

 

“It’s an old government base due north of here. Back in the fifties the rumour was they were developing new weapons there, the kind that would make nukes look like firecrackers.” Armin’s eyes were wide, his tone serious. “It was supposedly abandoned years ago. But I guess that was just a cover. It doesn’t matter. It’s _secure_ ” He looked up at them, the faintest glimmer of hope in his eyes. “They’re still operating! In the middle of all this mess! It’s somewhere safe. No zombies. No fear. If we could make it there…” He tapped the spot on the map, his voice trailing off.

 

It was a long way north, even by car. And when everyone had fled the city in panic during the first outbreak, the highways had been blocked with an unmoving endless line of cars. When people realised they weren’t getting anywhere by car, they got out and started traveling by foot, leaving their cars in the middle of the road. None of them made it, of course. People had to rest. Zombies, not so much.

 

The point was that roads were unusable, clogged with empty vehicles.  None of them knew how to use a motorbike, and cycling wasn’t much better than walking.

 

“Look, it’s obvious.” Eren said eventually. “We sit here, live off whatever food we can find for as long as possible and sooner or later we get bitten, or worse. Or, we fight back. If we get organised enough, arm ourselves properly, we might have a chance on foot. We can get there” His voice grew more confident. “We can get there, or die trying. As for me, I’m taking out as many of those monsters as I can along the way.” His eyes glinted murderously, in a way that really gave Jean the creeps. Jean was too scared to ask why Eren had it in for zombies so badly, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If the guy wanted to go on an insane rampage, good for him. As long as he didn’t get the rest of them killed in the meantime, Jean didn’t care.

 

“D-die? I’m not dying!” Stuttered Sasha.

 

“Put it this way. Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, or do you want to _live_? Somewhere with the resources to take down those zombie freaks properly! Once and for all!” Eren’s voice grew to yelling.

 

It took some convincing, but they all agreed. Now here they were, trying to get together as much ammo and supplies as they could for the trip north. It would have been a lot easier to prepare if Connie and Sasha didn’t keep eating all their food.

 

Which was why Jean had been wandering around unknowingly outside Marco’s apartment, looking for anything useful and attracting the attention of an unfortunate number of zombies. He hadn’t found supplies, but he had found Marco.

 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that anymore.

 

He glanced at Marco. His head was still resting in his hands, his eyes closed and the faint frown lines that seemed to have become a permanent feature of his forehead were almost invisible.

 

Jean was suddenly back at High School again, smiling at Marco across the lunch table and feeling such a strange need to reach out and stroke Marco’s face, exploring and feeling and memorizing the location of each and every  freckle. But he couldn’t. Because what was he thinking? Marco was his best friend. He couldn’t feel like that. He wasn’t allowed. His parents expected him to get into a good college, find a fancy job and settle down with a pretty girl so he could make them proud grandparents. But somehow, Marco felt closer than all of that. Stronger. That dream was just a dream. But Marco, on the other hand, was right there. It was as though his presence outshone the faint spark of the life expected of him on the horizon. That life was the most distant empty moon; Marco was the sun. Jean could touch Marco. Feel him. Be burned by him.

 

Burned was a good word for what had happened to Jean. He had been blinded by Marco’s light, unable to control himself. Their relationship had been doomed from the beginning. Jean had known in the darker part of his mind that it could only end with them getting hurt. But how do you give up the sun?

 

When they had been discovered, on a level Jean had been relived. Now the worst was over. But what he hadn’t expected was for it to get back to his parents.

 

Jean had never gotten along with his father, but he had never been afraid of him. Not before that night.

 

They packed him off to a tough boarding school before the next term even began. They made it clear to him- comeback “fixed”, or don’t come back.

 

So he fixed himself- not in the way that they wanted, but in a way that would keep him safe, keep him distant. He built a tower around himself, one with no windows. He hid in it for so long he forgot what the sun felt like.

 

But now Marco was back, and he was burning again. He hated himself for it.

 

It was getting dark outside the minivan.

 

“Are we going to make it back to base before nightfall?” asked Jean. Zombies were bad enough during the day. At night you were as good as dead.

 

Armin nodded.

 

“We’ll make it to daybreak, Jean. Don’t worry.”

 

Jean really hoped so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what happened in this chapter but I had a lot of angst and backstory to get out of my system. But yeah, guess who watched 28 Days Later and screamed at every jumpy moment...
> 
> Considering nearly the whole chapter was Jean having flashbacks I imagine him just sitting there for like half an hour staring really intensely at Marco during these memory trips without realising... everyone else in the van getting kinda creeped out... a little worried because seriously, he hasn't blinked in like, ten minutes... 
> 
> Coming up next: a slightly longer and very Jeanmarco-y chapter because I lost control and have no shame.


	5. Resident (but not evil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is Jean, Marco and the dark.

Marco was almost impressed with the temporary base the others had set up. It was just a house like any other, but the surrounding garden was laced with wires attached to cans that rattled loudly when the wire was yanked. Marco discovered this by climbing out of the minivan and immediately tripping over one.

 

“Wow, Marco. You’re officially as dumb as the zombies.” Eren sniggered, watching Marco scramble to his feet.

 

Marco scrunched up his face in irritation, but his heart wasn't in it. The street seemed quiet, but appearances could be deceiving. The sooner they were safely inside, the better.

 

The team moved quickly and efficiently, relaying their findings from the minivan to the house in a matter of minutes. As Jean handed Marco the last box, their hands brushed lightly against each other. Marco could feel his face going red, but refused to react. It infuriated him how much of a response the smallest touch from Jean could provoke.

 

Being out in the open like this made Marco feel jumpy, and the fact that it was getting dark wasn't helping. As soon as they were all inside, Mikasa closed the door and locked it, plunging them into complete darkness.

 

He heard Armin muttering about finding a torch, and movement of the others as they felt their way out of the room. He sensed Jean still standing to his left, and wondered idly if Jean was still as afraid of the dark as he was in High School. Marco reached his hand out in search of him. As his fingers met Jean’s shoulder he heard a yelp. Jean jerked out of reach and there was a slamming noise which sounded as though Jean had tried to run through a wall.

 

“What’s going on in there?” yelled Connie from what sounded like another room.

 

“Nothing!” Shouted Marco, trying to hold back his laughter. Jean liked to act tough, but it seemed he was just as much of a scaredy-cat as he had always been.

 

“I can hear you giggling, and it’s _not funny_ ” hissed Jean.

 

Marco only laughed harder. “Aw, did I fwighten you? Poor diddums!”

 

“You made me hurt my head.” Said Jean sulkily.

 

“You're such a _baby_ Jean.”

 

“I could have a concussion!”

 

Marco rolled his eyes in the dark. “No you don’t. Come over here and I'll show you.”

 

There was a shuffling sound, a thump, a few of Jean’s favourite swear words and suddenly Jean was blindly groping him. Marco grabbed his hands and pulled Jean forwards until they were facing each other.

 

“Let me see…” said Marco, feeling his way past Jean’s shoulders until he found his head. “Where did you hit yourself?”

 

Jean reached up, taking Marco’s hand and guiding it to the spot on his head.

 

“See, it’s just a tiny little bump. You're overreacting.” Marco grinned faintly, his fingers stroking gently over the place on Jean’s head. If you looked up “Drama Queen” in a dictionary, he was convinced there’d be a picture of Jean there.

 

He wondered vaguely what was taking so long with the torches, before realising that neither of them had moved their hands. He was suddenly very aware that they were the only ones left in the room. And although he couldn't see, he knew Jean was standing very close now, so close Marco could feel Jean’s breath on his neck. Neither of them moved, letting the silence grow longer and longer.

 

Then Jean leaned in ever so slowly, and Marco could smell Jean’s deodorant, the same chocolate axe as he had always worn. _Seriously?_ Thought Marco. _It’s the damn apocalypse and he’s still wearing that deodorant?_ And oh, did he smell good. Marco felt as though he could drown in the simple familiarity of it.

 

Marco wasn't sure when it happened, but Jean’s hands had slipped away from his and come to rest on Marco’s shoulders. Jean leaned in again, and kept moving, until there were only centimetres between them. For a second Marco wanted nothing more than to lean in, to find Jean’s lips with his, to be transported away from this life and back to the one he once had.

 

It took all his willpower to bring his hand up and put it on Jean’s shoulder, gently but firmly stopping him from moving any closer.

 

Marco was glad it was still dark; he doubted he could stand seeing the expression Jean was probably wearing in that moment.

 

“Marco…” said Jean, in the quiet, vulnerable voice Marco only ever heard him use when they were alone.

 

“I…” The words stuck in Marco’s throat. “I can't do this Jean. Not again. The pain…” He ran out of words. There weren't any, not to describe the hurt that Jean had left in his wake. It may have been a while back, but God it still hurt.

 

He felt Jean’s hands drop away from his shoulders. Suddenly Marco was blinded by light. He brought a hand up instinctively to cover his eyes.

 

“Hey guys! Look what I found!” Grinned Sasha from the doorway, wielding a giant camping torch.

 

“Sasha! Will you put that away?! You're blinding us!”

 

She pouted. “You're no fun. Come on, we're eating!”

 

“I’m surprised you even need to. You were practically licking that yogurt off Connie.”

 

“Was not!” Her face flushed as red as her hair.

 

“I don't know why you even picked that stuff up anyway! Do you have any idea how gross it'll be by now…?”

 

Marco rolled his eyes, following the bickering pair upstairs.

 

He didn't notice the faintest rattling sound coming from outside.

 

***

 

They congregated in the back room on the second floor. It was empty, but the walls had been painted yellow not so long ago, with a border of teddies running around the skirting board. It seemed pretty clear that the couple that had once lived there had had big plans for that room. Marco felt a stab of pity for the unknown pair that probably never lived long enough to have their child.

 

Nobody else in the room had paid this any mind, and were collapsing onto their sleeping bags and munching away. Something hit his head. Marco looked down to see a chocolate bar lying at his feet.

 

“Stop standing there and eat!” Grinned Connie between mouthfuls.

 

Marco sat cross-legged in the only space that wasn't sleeping bag, watching the group around him. It was like being at a sleepover with a bunch of twelve year olds.

 

“I’m just saying, if we found, say, a scuba diving centre, and they just happened to have shark suits, we'd be sorted. If shark teeth can't bite through then neither can zombie teeth. Common sense.”

 

“ _Common sense?_ Where would we find a diving centre? _There’s nowhere to dive here._ And if there WAS, why would they sell shark suits when THERE AREN'T ANY SHARKS”

 

“Yeah but I'm JUST SAYING!”

 

“Shut up Connie!” Interrupted Mikasa.

 

“But…”

 

“Quiet!” Mikasa was standing, one finger to her lips. The group fell silent. Every so faintly, the sound of rattling cans became audible.

 

“Everyone, positions!”

 

They moved quickly, producing weapons as if from nowhere and moving out to different places in the house. Marco stood in the middle of the room, clueless as to what to do.

 

Mikasa was the only one left in the room with Marco, staring intently out of the window with a handgun at the ready. Marco held his breath. Slowly, Mikasa reached for a torch and held it up to the window.

 

“What are you doing?! You'll attract their attention!” Marco hissed.

 

Mikasa flicked it on, sending a beam of light into the back garden. There was a screech and a hissing noise. Marco breathed out. It was just a cat.

 

“Clear!” Shouted Mikasa.

 

There were audible sighs of relief from other parts of the house. As they all returned to their places Marco felt guilt creeping within him. Everyone had their place and their way of contributing- except, it seemed, for him. What if it had been a real attack? What if there had been a lot of them?

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Marco looked up at Jean, who retracted his hand, flushing red.

 

“You ok?”

 

“It was just a cat.”

 

“You look kinda…” He swallowed. “Tense.”

 

“Well. I’m not a hardened war hero like you guys.”

 

Jean didn't say anything, but he didn't stop blushing.

 

***

 

Everyone seemed a lot more relaxed after that, as though they had filled their daily quota for excitement and were ready to rest.

 

They settled down quickly into sleeping bags in varying states of disrepair, organising who would keep watch during the night. Despite Marco’s protests Jean hurled his sleeping bag at him, curling up under a blanket instead. Marco wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse; being surrounded by Jean’s scent was comforting, as though he was wrapped in the other’s arms, but at the same time he didn't _want_ to be comforted. He didn't want to let himself give into Jean, not again, not even in this most simple way.

 

He didn't want to get used to Jean’s presence again; not when it could be taken away so easily.

 

He could make out Jean’s outline in the dark. He was curled into a ball, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. He had his rifle gripped to his chest (Marco hadn't seen him without it once that day) and was moving his mouth slightly, half-forming words in his dreams. Not that Marco was staring at his lips. Of course not.

 

Jean stretched out in his sleep until his joints cracked. In high school Marco had hated that movement. Which was code for “secretly found it really hot”.

 

If Marco hadn't been in a sleeping bag he would have kicked himself.

 

He noticed that Jean’s blanket had slipped off him completely.

 

_Damn it_ thought Marco in exasperation. He reached out as quietly as possible to tug the blanket back over Jean’s shoulders. It was only fair, really. He couldn't let Jean freeze to death just because Marco was using his sleeping bag.

 

_That’s right._ Whispered a small voice inside. _Keep pretending you don't care. Not that you're fooling anyone, of course._

 

As Marco was pulling the blanket over Jean’s shoulders, the latter rolled towards him in his sleep, bringing his hand over to rest on Marco’s outstretched arm. Marco cursed silently. He gently eased his arm out and, forgetting himself, paused to brush Jean’s fringe out of his eyes. The guy really did need a haircut. Not that Marco could talk. Finding a living orthodontist to remove his damn braces was proving to be pretty much impossible.

 

Marco heard a cough from the other side of his room, and immediately withdrew his hand. He really, really hoped Connie had been paying more attention to the house’s surroundings than to Marco casually stroking hair out of a sleeping Jean’s eyes.

 

He lay in the near-dark a little longer, listening to Jean’s steady breathing, in and out, in and out. It reminded him of those high school nights, curled up together in the brief reprieve the night offered before life pulled them apart again.

 

Surrounded by the smell of chocolate axe deodorant, sleep, at last, took Marco.

 

***

 

When he woke, it was Connie’s loud snores that had disturbed him.

 

_Connie?_ Thought Marco groggily.  _Isn't he meant to be on guard duty…?_

 

Marco jerked upright in panic. Was nobody keeping watch?!

 

“What’s wrong?” Murmured a voice beside him. Marco nearly jumped out of his skin- or his sleeping bag at least.

 

“Jean? You're awake?”

 

“I took guard duty over from Connie. I couldn't sleep.”

 

Marco shuffled back so he was leaning against the wall alongside Jean. “Do you still get your nightmares?” He asked tentatively.

 

“Sometimes.” Jean said in a voice that clearly said _I don't want to talk about it._  

 

They sat in the dark for a while, listening to Connie’s snores.

 

“Did you…” Jean’s voice was little more than a whisper. “When I left…did you really try to find me?”

 

Something twisted in Marco’s gut.

 

“Are you stupid? Of course I did.” The words tasted sour on Marco’s tongue. Jean was stirring up emotions that Marco had put a _lot_ of effort into repressing.

 

“But… I was awful to you. I… I lied and hid my… our… I treated you like dirt. I abandoned you to God knows what kind of torment at school. I didn't even say goodbye.”

 

Marco bit down on his lip. “Are you trying to make me mad, damn you?” He received no response. “Of course I asked after you! How can you think that there was anything you could have done that would make me stop lo...?” Marco bit the words back at that the last moment.

 

“I couldn't just… stop caring about you, asshole. Not like you did, if you ever really cared at all. It took a lot of work.” Marco screwed his face up, glaring fiercely at the opposite wall.

 

There was a few moments of silence.

 

“I did care.” Jean whispered. “I wasn't good at it. But I cared.”

 

Marco felt a crack pushing into the ice around his heart. _No._ He thought. _You mustn't fall into this trap again._

 

“You had a funny way of showing it.” He said at last. The ice within held strong. It had to.

 

Jean didn’t reply. Marco slouched back into a lying position. This time it took longer to fall asleep again. Jean’s smell wasn't comforting anymore. It was suffocating.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly not intending on this chapter being so long but suddenly things were happening and yeah.  
> Story time: I wake up. The clock says 4:00am. In the darkness, I whisper one word to myself: SHARKSUITS.  
> Then I go back to sleep in the knowledge that I have no control over this fic. It's a metaphor for my life.
> 
> But seriously, there's no electricity. That yogurt has not been refrigerated in some time. Seriously, Sasha. Yuck.  
> (jk they didn't eat it... well, not ALL of it...)
> 
> Anyway, everything seems pretty calm relaxed at the moment, huh.  
> It would be a shame if something were to  
> happen.  
> ;)


	6. Jean of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean just can't catch a break.

Jean watched the dim outline of Marco’s curled up silhouette in the dark, internally tearing himself to pieces. Their conversation had proven it for sure. Marco hated Jean. Quite rightly, too. _Jean._ He thought to himself. _You are trash. Actual trash. That pile of empty take-away boxes and crisp wrappers you saw lying in the street earlier? That’s you. Go lie face down in the middle of the road and wait for yourself to start decomposing. You deserve it._

 

As much as he was tempted to, he didn’t.

 

Instead he sat there, rifle lying across his lap, listening to the wind blowing outside and waiting for morning.

 

It was a few hours before sunrise when he heard a crash from outside. He was on his feet immediately, stumbling over sleeping bodies to look out the window.

 

What he saw sent fear shooting through his body.

 

There were dozens of them. How were there so many? It wasn’t possible. It was as though they had… collaborated. They were acting as they always did, clawing pathetically at the walls of the house as though they were trying to bury through… but for so many to appear in the same place at the same time… it couldn't be chance. Jean didn’t know how they were doing it, but they were working together.

 

He reached out and nudged the head of the person nearest, who happened to be Armin.

 

The blonde sat up in his sleeping bag, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “What…?”

 

Jean didn't speak, but silently gestured for Armin to join him at the window.

 

Armin struggled out of his bag, sliding on his glasses at the same time. Jean secretly thought they made Armin look like a blonde Harry Potter, but he had never quite had the heart to tease Armin about it. Aside from Armin’s permanent terrified-mouse expression, pissing off both Eren and Mikasa in one go was not on his to-do list.  Armin stood beside Jean at the window, staring silently at the scene below.

 

“How did they know we were here? They didn't all just wander over here by themselves.” Jean asked eventually.

 

Armin sighed. “Maybe with a fully functioning laboratory, a few test subjects and a team of scientists I could tell you. As for now…” Armin’s grip on the windowsill tightened. “They’re showing… what could almost be described as intelligence. We must make sure we don’t underestimate them.” He sighed again. “Go sleep, Jean. I’ll take a watch.”

 

Jean wasn't sure he could sleep with the scene below burned into his eyeballs, but if there was one thing he had learned, it was rest when you could. “Are you sure?”

 

Armin nodded. “I’m going to have to do some planning. They’re not going to go away, and we need to leave this house sooner or later. Sleep, while I try to think.”

 

Jean nodded, his stomach dropping. He hadn't even thought about how they were going to leave with so many of them outside. Shit.

 

Later, curled up beside Marco, Jean could have sworn that, however faintly, he could hear the faint scratching of nails on brick.

 

***

 

When Jean next awoke, the room had been flooded with light, and something was tickling his nose. Jean opened his eyes to a face full of Marco’s hair. One of them must have rolled onto the other in the night.

 

“Morning, lovebirds.” Snickered Eren from beyond Jean’s view. “Ouch, Mikasa, what was that for?!”

 

Jean sat up, his face burning red, and, worst luck, Marco was awake too, blinking blearily at him. It must have been Jean who had rolled over in the night, as he had been lying spread-eagled with his arm thrown across Marco and his face nuzzled into the top of his head. Jean wasn't quite too busy dying of embarrassment to notice how insufferably _cute_ Marco looked in the morning, with his hair all messed up and his eyes squinting in the light. In all the nights they had spent together, Jean had never stuck around until morning, and oh, the bedhead he had been missing out on. Another stab of guilt to the gut. Jean had been too much of a coward to as much as stay until morning. Nothing like a bit of embarrassment and self-hatred to get the day started. He could still hear Eren snickering in the background.

 

“I, um…” Jean watched as Marco brought a hand up to his head.

 

“I think you drooled on me.” Marco said simply.

 

“Could be worse. At least it wasn't mouldy yogurt.” Giggled Sasha, who was putting away her sleeping bag.

 

Jean let out a sigh of relief. Marco was being cool about it. Thank God.

 

He spent breakfast shooting dirty looks at Eren, who was alternating between making stupid faces at Jean and defending himself against Mikasa’s elbows to the ribs.

 

 “So, um, everyone.” Announced Armin once they had finished eating. “The good news is, we probably have all the stuff we need for the trip north. But the bad news is, we are, ah, surrounded by zombies.”

 

The group all looked rightfully terrified, except for Eren, who was doing his psycho-grin-thing. Without looking away from Armin, Mikasa instinctively reached up to grab hold of his collar, probably sensing a murderous rampage building.

 

“I've been thinking for a good few hours about how we can get to the van without being eaten. I've come up with a plan.” Armin’s eyes flickered nervously between them. He swallowed. “It’s not a good plan. But I don't think we have any other choice.”

 

“So? Tell us!” said Connie nervously, absent-mindedly shifting a little closer to Sasha.

 

“I've checked the other windows, and the zombies are on all sides of the house. Just launching a full attack and trying to make it to the minivan would be suicidal. Our best chance…” He paused. “Look, I don't like it, but the best we can do is send someone out the back door as a distraction while the rest make a break for the van.”

 

The group exchanged silent looks.

 

“I'll do it.” Said Eren. Of course he would.

 

“No you won’t!” Snarled Mikasa.

 

“Stop telling me what to do, Mikasa! You're not Mom!” Eren’s voice grew louder. The two squared up to each other, and Jean felt a sudden urge to dive for cover.

 

“I may not be, but I promised her I'd look after you, and I'm damned it if going to stand by and let yourself get killed!”

 

“So what? Mom’s _gone_. She’s running around out there with all the other goddam monsters! So quit trying to act like her and leave me a-“

 

Mikasa slapped Eren, cutting him off mid-sentence. For a moment neither moved, staring at each other in shock.

 

_…I’m not a hardened war hero like you guys…_

Jean wasn't sure what made the sentence pop into his head, but one moment it was there, and the next he found his mouth moving of its own accord.

 

“I'll do it.”

 

The group were staring at him. Jean felt about as shocked as they looked. “You don't have to look _that_ surprised” He grumbled.

 

Armin bit his lip. “Are you sure, Jean? I… I can't promise we'll be able to pick you up safely. To be brutally honest, your chances of surviving will be low.”

 

Jean’s mind felt as though it was freezing over, but he nodded. _What are you doing?!_ Screamed a voice at the back of his head. _Are you trying to get yourself killed?!_

“You can’t!” Marco’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

 

“What?”

 

“You can't do this, Jean! You're going to get yourself killed!”

 

“Got any better ideas?” Jean snarled.

 

Marco’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he thought of an answer. “Let me do it, then.”

 

“Are you crazy?! Do you even know how to use a gun?!”

 

“No… but that’s the point, you're more use to this group alive than dead! I’m not!”

 

Jean stared at Marco, and in that moment it felt as though they were the only two people in the world. Part of Jean wanted to throttle Marco. The other part… as much as Jean liked to pretend he was thinking practically, the truth was there was no way in hell he was letting Marco get himself killed. He wasn't sure whether this new sense of responsibility was because he was the one who had dragged Marco into this mess in the first place, or just guilt, but it was there. _What a hypocrite I am._ Thought Jean. _I won't let anyone harm him, yet I'm the one who probably hurt him the most._

 

“You're being stupid. I have a chance of making it. You don’t!”

 

“Both of you, quit it!” Interrupted Armin, and suddenly Jean remembered that there were five other people in the room. “Jean’s right, Marco. He’s a far more experienced fighter. If any of us can make it, he can.” Armin’s eyes met Jean’s. “Let’s get ready. I hope this works. For all our sakes.”

 

***

 

Jean stood opposite the back door, tossing his rifle between his hands in agitation. Through the glass window of the door he could see one of the zombies, hammering pathetically at the glass, drool dripping down its chin. He stopped tossing the rifle and instead held it up, aiming it at the monster’s face.

 

“Boom.” He said morosely, before lowering the weapon.

 

He looked at his watch. Ten to twelve. They were working on the logic that if zombies were slower during the day, they'd be at their most sluggish at noon. They were giving Jean the best chance they could. Which was fair enough, really, considering he was probably going to get himself killed saving their asses.

 

Which brought Jean back around to the question of why. Why the _Hell_ was he doing this? Pretty much the number one rule of surviving this fucked-up world was _don’t be a hero_. Which was _exactly_ what he was doing. And now he was probably going to die. He would have hit his head off the window, if that hadn't meant getting a little closer to the zombie than he was comfortable with.

 

Yet, in his final minutes, it was Marco his thoughts kept taking him back to. Because if there was one fuck – up in his life he had never truly made up for, it was the mess he had left Marco in at the end of their…their… thing.

 

 _You're_ _staring death in the face, Jean_. He thought to himself in a burst of anger. _Yet you still can’t admit that you were in a relationship with another man. Fucking coward._

He looked again at his watch. Five minutes to go. He looked back up at the zombie.

 

A question popped into his head, one he didn't have an answer for. Would he rather face becoming a zombie… or face his feelings for Marco?

 

The question was, which scared him the most…?

 

Jean closed his eyes, no longer willing to look at the vacant expression of the zombie outside.

 

Jean had seen far too much to believe there was a God in the sky and a heaven awaiting him in the afterlife. So when he raised his head upwards with his eyes still closed, he had no idea who he was addressing.

 

_I have done some fucking awful shit in my life. Most of which I did because I’m selfish, or an idiot, or just because I had to. But the worst mistake I ever made was running away from Marco. Whoever you are, whatever you are- Hell, for all I know I’m talking to myself- if I survive this, I’ll tell him. I swear it. I’ll explain everything and face up to whatever he has to say. And if I don’t survive… I guess I’ll know it’s because I never deserved to be forgiven anyway. Not that I’ll have very long to think that. I’ll be too busy trying to eat people._

He could hear the others assembling at the front door of the house. His watch read 11:56.

 

“Jean…”

 

He spun around, to see Marco standing in the doorway, gripping nervously onto an axe Sasha had loaned him.

 

“Marco, what are you doing? Go get ready and wait with the others.”

 

Instead Marco took a step closer, and kept going until they were standing face to face.

 

“I… I…” Marco swallowed nervously. “I can't stand the thought of you dying, Jean, ok? So just to make it clear, you are absolutely forbidden from doing that. But if something were… If something were to happen, and this was how it ended between… between us, I would never forgive myself. So” Marco took another step closer. “If you survive, I want _no_ mention of this. Because… this  _won't_ be the last time I see you. It better not be. But just in case…”

 

Marco cupped Jean’s face in his hands, before pulling his face closer. Jean barely had time to register what was happening before he felt Marco’s lips press to his cheek. Then Marco’s hands were gone, the ghost of his touch still tingling on his cheek.

 

“See you later.” Marco finished, as though nothing had happened. But his face, the slightest shade redder than usual, gave him away.

 

“Y – Yeah. See you…Marco.”

 

Marco left to join the others, while Jean stood in the room, alone once more, his mind spinning.

 

He thought Marco hated him… but… he had just kissed him on the cheek?

 

Jean wasn't an expert, but he was pretty sure people didn't normally kiss those they hated.

 

He looked at his watch once more. 11:59.

 

“Alright, guys.” He raised his rifle and aimed at the head of the zombie on the other side of the glass. “Showtime.”

 

His watch alarm went off, and he pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARMIN WEARING GLASSES 2K15  
> Coming up next time... a new POV. Let's see what some of the others think about Jean and Marco ;)  
> Also this fic has just passed 10k words :') My baby is growing up. So thanks to everyone who has left kudos/comments and encouraged me to get this far!
> 
> As always, your comments mean so much :3


	7. Eren of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting and wondering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is some brief discussion of sexuality in this chapter, and I realise that it is a little rushed and glossed over, but if anyone has questions I suggest you ask google because I am not an expert and neither are any of the characters discussing it. 
> 
> If you find the behaviour of any particular character(s) offensive, please bear in mind that I am writing from the viewpoint of people who aren't exactly educated on this subject matter, and their behaviour and opinions don't necessarily match mine.
> 
> Having said that I really don't think anyone should be offended (?) but you can never be too safe where stuff like this is concerned :3

Eren’s day, on the whole, was going quite well. It was only midday and he had already killed, like, five of those zombie bastards. On the downside, he had blood all over his shirt AGAIN. Man, that stuff _never_ washed out.

 

Armin’s distraction technique had sort of worked, but only on about two thirds of the surrounding zombies. As for the rest, it was up to them to fight through.

 

He knew the general plan was to get to the van as fast as possible, but hey, if the zombies insisted on chasing the group, then he might as well take them out. He wasn't sure how long he'd been fighting when he saw what looked like his sixth kill of the day, and ran for the zombie, raising his already blood-stained shovel in anticipation. Except before he could swing the minivan got there first.

 

The zombie was thrown into the air and flew into the wall of the house with a sickening crunch like a rag-doll, crumpling into a groaning heap at the base.

 

“Hey! That one was mine!” He yelled at Mikasa, who was scowling from behind the wheel.

 

The side door of the minivan flew open, and suddenly Connie was yanking him in.

 

“Jean’s out there risking his life for us right now, and you're throwing yourself into danger for no reason!” Connie yelled. Eren’s mouth dropped open in indignation.

 

“Well it’s not like I asked him too! I wanted to go, but noooo, Jean wanted to impress his new boyfriend!”

 

The minivan lurched sideways as it turned to head in the direction of the city limits, cutting off Eren’s argument with Connie.

 

Mikasa took the opportunity to interrupt. “I’m heading for where we arranged to meet Jean, but we can't afford to wait for more than a couple hours, not if we're going to make any distance before sunset. Are we clear?” She directed her last comment to Marco. “A couple hours. No more. If he doesn’t show, that’s it. We leave.”

 

Marco, who was sitting in the back row beside Armin, nodded numbly. His face was white, and Eren noticed a dark smear of blood on his axe.

 

“Hey, you killed one! Nice job.” He grinned.

 

Marco’s eyes flickered to the blood on the axe and back to Eren, and somehow his face went even whiter. There was a thump, as the axe slipped through his fingers and hit the floor of the van.

 

“Hey, are you…?” Eren’s voice trailed off as Armin shushed him.

 

“He was just a child…” Marco looked at him with haunted eyes. “A child…”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence.

 

“Was that… was that your first kill?” Asked Eren. Armin shot him a warning glance.

 

Eren remembered his first kill, just as much as anyone. He had forgotten how it used to affect him, how the sick thud of metal against bone made him feel sick. But then he had seen his mother, caught in a swarm of the bastards, hearing her last scream before she had been overcome…

 

He was glad to kill any zombie he could after that.

 

He had come so far since then he could no longer understand how Marco was so upset. He had killed a little one. So what? If he hadn't, he would be a screaming ravenous freak by tomorrow. That was how the world worked.

 

“Just a kid…” Marco whispered miserably.

 

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

 

***

The dusty highway stretched out to the horizon and beyond, strewn with abandoned vehicles and trash carried from the city on the wind. They had been right to plan to walk; there was no way the minivan was getting anywhere in that mess. Eren was almost going to miss the old thing. Sure, it was a little blood-stained, and pretty dented in places, but he'd gotten used to it.

 

He gave himself a mental shake. They were going to the Safe Base. Somewhere where people were fighting to cure the zombies- or kill them all. Eren didn't care which. Getting there and finding a way to help was more important than a dumb minivan- more important, in fact, than _anything._

 

The side door of the van was open to the elements, and the group was clustered around a gas stove on which a tin of baked beans were being cooked.  Steam from the pan spiralled into the air where the wind whipped it into nothing but the slightest smell of the past, when Eren ate baked beans on toast in a warm home with his parents and Mikasa around him in a normal, zombie-free world.

 

The sun had been inching down the sky, and although nobody said anything, they all knew Jean was nearly out of time. If he was still alive, he had to make it here soon.

 

“Do you think Marco will come with us if we have to leave without Jean?” Whispered Armin to Mikasa as the three of them started sorting supplies into rucksacks.

 

Mikasa didn’t reply. The three of them looked in Marco’s direction. He was sitting across from Sasha and Connie with his axe clutched in his hands, his eyes trained on the city and his mouth set in a thin line. Eren wasn't exactly the empathetic type, but even he could see the guy was a mess.

 

“Why wouldn't he? He’s not stupid.”

 

Mikasa and Armin shared a cryptic look.

 

“Hey” Eren frowned. “What aren't you telling me?”

 

“Isn't it obvious?” Mikasa scowled. “They love each other.”

 

Eren made a noise somewhere between a cough and a snort. “You – what?! But they're not – I mean, Jean’s not…” His voice trailed off as the other two looked at him expectantly. “Ok, Marco could be gay, but Jean? No way! He’s got a big dumb crush on _you_ Mikasa, _everyone_ knows that. And anyway, they're always shouting at each other. Why would they do that if they love each other?”

 

“Actually” Interrupted Armin. “Liking Mikasa doesn't make Jean automatically straight. There’s tons of things he could be. Bi, poly, pan…and shouting doesn't mean they don't love each other. I mean, you and Mikasa shout at each other all the time…”

 

“What’s that got to do with it?” Eren frowned in confusion.

 

Armin suddenly looked panicked, and if Eren hadn't known her better, he could have sworn Mikasa had gone red.

 

“I just… I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant it doesn't mean they hate each other! That’s all!” Armin stuttered a little too hastily.

 

Eren could feel the beginnings of a headache. Trying to read between the lines with those two was a pain.

 

“Fine, so maybe they don’t hate each other.” He glanced back at Marco. The guy hadn't moved, and the sinking sun was casting long shadows around them. If they didn’t get moving soon they wouldn't make a safe distance from the city before nightfall. “Still can't say I see it, though. Jean’s like, the human embodiment of “No Homo”.”

 

Mikasa rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Armin bit his lip.

 

“Jean mentioned once that High School had been a tough time for him. I wonder what happened between them.”

 

Eren snorted. “Yeah, well, I don't care about whatever’s going on between them. I care about getting to the Base. And we aren't going to make it if we keep waiting here for Jean. If Marco wants to sit here until he gets killed, that’s his problem.”

 

Suddenly, Marco stood up, his eyes trained on a spot in the distance. Eren followed his line of sight, until he saw it too. It was a figure stumbling towards them.

 

Before anyone could shout a word of warning, Marco was sprinting towards them, his axe discarded on the ground.

 

“Marco, wait!” Armin hollered, but his ears were deaf to their warnings.

 

As Marco reached the figure, it fell forward into his arms. Marco stumbled back, half dragging the other, and as they drew closer Jean’s hoodie became recognisable. Eren was about to yell something stupid in greeting, but when he saw the blood the words died in his throat.

 

“Help him! Someone help him!” Marco yelled. He fell to his knees by the stove, lying Jean out beside him and grabbing the other by his shoulders. “Stay with us, Jean!”

 

“Step away from him, Marco!” Mikasa yelled, her gun levelled at Jean’s head.

 

Marco’s head snapped up. “What… what are you doing?!”

 

“If he’s been bitten, we have to kill him. So help me I will shoot him, and you too if I have to.” There was a click as she turned off the safety. “Jean! Jean, if you can hear me, I need you to tell us if you've been bitten. Tell us, and we'll help you!”

 

Jean coughed, his face ashen. “Not bitten… fell… glass...”

 

“See, he’s safe! Now let’s help him!” Marco shouted desperately.

 

“And if he’s lying?” Mikasa retorted.

 

“He’s not! You know he wouldn't put us at risk like that!”

 

Mikasa hesitated for a fraction of a second, before lowering her gun.

 

Immediately Armin dived into the minivan for the first aid kit, while Marco went back to pleading with Jean, hands on his shoulders.

 

As Eren watched the two of them, he suddenly understood what Mikasa and Armin had been talking about. There was more to their interactions than met the eye. Feelings that ran deeper than some High School friendship.

 

Eren hoped for all their sakes that Jean’s wounds weren't as bad as they looked. The sun was sinking lower by the second, and it was nearly time to go.

 

He hoped he was imagining the howls of the undead coming from the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeh I'm sorry about this chapter I'm not sure how I feel about it :/ Eren's viewpoint is hard to write, but I wanted to challenge myself.  
> Like I said I really glossed over some sexuality stuff but if you have questions then google should be fairly reliable. 
> 
> I also want y'all to know that I've screenshotted every comment and saved them to my phone to look at whenever I feel sad because really it means so much to me ^_^ Ok cheesy moment over.
> 
> Next time: Jean and Marco have some very revealing discussion, and Marco has a very, very stupid idea.


	8. The Walking Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old wounds are torn open again, for better or worse.

Marco’s head felt like clothes inside a spin-dryer. First Jean was gone, out of his life forever. Then he was back and his life was chaos, and Marco didn't even get a chance to work out how he felt about that before Jean slipped through his hands. But, once again, Jean returned to him, but bloody and beaten and exhausted. He looked as though he had run for miles on foot, and for all Marco knew he had. His heart slammed against his ribcage as Armin dressed his wounds. For all the blood Jean was covered in, they didn't look as bad as Marco had first thought. Then it clicked. The blood wasn't all Jean’s. Marco suddenly felt faint, as his mind pulled him back to their escape from the house that afternoon. Marco had killed. He had killed that little kid, split his skull open like an egg, just a kid, just a kid –

 

Jean coughed, and Marco snapped back to reality.

 

“Will he be ok?” Marco asked Armin, barely managing more than a whisper.

 

“As long as he keeps his wounds clean, yes. He’s mostly just exhausted.” Armin finished tying one last bandage, before looking at Marco. The smaller man put a hand on his shoulder. “Try not to worry, Marco.” He said with a faint smile. “This is Jean we're talking about. He'll be up and arguing with Eren in no time.”

 

There was a loud groan from beside him. “Bet your ass I will.”

 

“Shut up and rest, idiot.” Marco fought back a grin. Jean’s voice was heavy with exhaustion, but the steel underneath had returned.

 

Suddenly, Jean was forcing his way to his feet. “Well? What are we waiting for?” He gasped between breaths. “We need to get out of here, don't we?”

 

“Don’t be an idiot!” Marco joined Jean on his feet. “You need rest! You can barely stand, let alone walk!”

 

“Jean’s right” Mikasa interrupted. “We can’t wait around any longer.” She glanced at Jean. “Sorry about the gun pointing.”

 

“No problem.” Said Jean with an easy grin. Marco felt a stab of jealousy. He was sure that if anyone else had been pointing the gun, Jean wouldn't have been so quick to forgive. Marco sighed. He had set out trying to stop himself from caring about Jean again, and God, he had failed. He had pretty much spent the whole afternoon _mooning over him_ for God’s sake. And the kiss…

 

Marco wasn't sure what he had been thinking when he went to say his goodbye to Jean. But the thought of losing him _again,_ having left things the way they were…

 

Yes, it had been stupid, and he had probably just embarrassed Jean- like seriously, the guy had thought he was about to die, and Marco kissed him on the _cheek-_ but Marco just couldn't bring himself to regret it. He was torn between caring for Jean and hurting over the past. It was the old cliché- Marco couldn't live with Jean, but he couldn't live without him either.

 

They started pulling on their rucksacks.

 

“Man, what did you guys put in here? It weighs a tonne!” Whined Connie, hefting the bag onto his back with a groan.

 

“We've packed so that if we get separated we each have enough to survive on our own for a while.” Armin replied, practically crushed under his bag. “I know it’s a lot, but we'll just have to deal with it.”

 

“Hey Connie” Sasha grinned. “You know what would lighten the load-?”

 

“You are NOT to eat all your food at once!”

 

“You're no fun, Armin!”

 

“Fun?! This isn't a road trip! We are fighting for our lives!”

 

“Lighten up!”

 

Marco tuned out their bickering. He watched Jean pick up his bag, testing the weight.

 

“I can help, if you…”

 

“I can manage.” Jean swung the bag onto his back, badly disguising a wince. “You're worse than my mom.”

 

“Well, if you didn't insist on acting the hero…”

 

Jean’s eyes swept over Marco, as if he were some sort of puzzle.

 

“What?”

 

Jean sighed. “I just don’t get you, sometimes.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Well, one minute you hate me, the next, you're fussing over me…”

 

Marco’s mind clouded over with confusion. “Wait, what? I don't hate you!” Was that what Jean really thought?

 

Jean’s mouth dropped open, and he was about to say something when they were interrupted.

 

“Hey horse face!” Yelled Eren. “Time to move! Stop talking to your boyf- I mean, Marco, and get moving!”

 

Marco sighed. Whatever Jean was about to say, it could wait until later. He wondered why Eren had cut himself off. He usually took any opportunity he could to tease Jean. Well, he supposed Jean had been through a lot today- maybe it was just Eren’s way of saying thanks.

 

He turned to face northwards, axe gripped in his hands, and followed the rest of the group up the road.

 

They had a long walk ahead.

 

***

 

They were picking their way over the wreck of a crash between two lorries when a road sign caught Marco’s eye. He wasn't sure why he had bothered looking – the group was relying on maps for the most part. But something about the sign caught his attention. Then it clicked. It showed that the road ahead was going to split into two directions. There was the route north, which the group was planning to follow, but there was also a path leading west. To a village marked simply as “Ende”. That was what had drawn Marco’s attention.

 

How had he forgotten? In all the mess they had been in the fact must have slipped his mind. How had he forgotten that going north of the city meant going past his hometown?

 

Instantly Marco knew, just knew, that he couldn't go north with the others. The last he had heard from his family before all the apocalypse crap went down, they were still living in the family home in Ende. After everything had gone to shit, Marco had wanted nothing more than to phone them, to make sure they were alright- he had spent so long cooped up in his flat thinking of little else- and now they were walking right by where they were. Where they had to be. Marco had to go find them. Resolve weighed in his gut like a rock. He was going to break away from the others at the first chance he got, and he was going to find his family.   


He suddenly felt a familiar presence beside him.

 

“Thinking about home?” Asked Jean, who had followed his gaze to the sign. He was breathing pretty heavily, but other than that he showed no sign that he was letting his exhaustion overcome him.

 

“Uhuh.” Mumbled Marco. He really didn't want to be drawn into a conversation. He couldn't trust himself to keep his decision from Jean.

 

“I know it’s hard” Jean continued. “But your family, your sister- they're not there anymore, Marco. They're gone.”

 

Marco heard Jean’s words, but did not accept them. His family was alive. He could feel it. He had to go find them. Even if that meant going off on his own. Even if it meant lying to Jean.

 

“I know they're dead, Jean.” Marco smiled as convincingly as he could. “I was just kidding myself before. But I can’t keep thinking about them. We've got to keep moving forward, right?”

 

Marco knew he was an awful liar at the best of times, but Jean’s frown faded a little, telling him that this time he had gotten away with it. He wanted to tell Jean, but knew he just wouldn't understand. Better to leave unannounced, giving Jean no opportunity to talk him out of it.

 

“Yeah, forwards. Good.” Jean smiled at him, a little uncertainly. Marco’s gut twisted. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Jean smile, not in such an honest way. But it was because of the lies Marco had told, and that blackened it.

 

 They were walking a little back from the others, who, if Marco didn't know better, seemed eager to leave the pair of them alone together. Odd.

 

“Marco… can I ask you something?” Asked Jean uncertainly.

 

Marco froze. Had Jean guessed his plans? “Y-yeah…”

 

“Did you really mean what you said? You don’t hate me?”

 

Marco bit back the urge to laugh with relief. “I could never hate you, Jean. As much as I might like to…” Marco trailed off, his relief evaporating. They might have moved on from talking about Ende, but now they were talking about Marco’s feelings, and that territory was just as dangerous.

 

“I just… I never really moved on, Jean. From… from us. I just didn't get any, uh, closure.”

 

“Closure?” Jean rolled the word around in his mouth, as if he had never before encountered it.

 

“Well, I just… I never really understood why it ended the way it did. That’s all.”

 

Jean’s face had gone white. “Wait… so you're not mad because of what I did… you're mad because you don't understand why?”

 

Marco shrugged. There was no exact way of putting his feelings into words, but that was as close as he figured they would get to doing so.

 

Jean’s eyes were trained on the road ahead. The pair paused in their conversation to squeeze between two cars. As Jean slid out the wing mirror caught him where his injuries were. Jean groaned, bending over to clutch at his side.

 

“Jean!” Marco was beside him in an instant, but Jean waved him off.

 

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” He grumbled.

 

Marco sighed. “Always the hero, huh Jean?”

 

“I'm no hero.”

 

“Maybe not. But you're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever known.”

 

The sun was almost touching the horizon. They had to find somewhere to stop soon. They had been lucky enough not to have encountered any trouble so far, but Marco sensed it wouldn't last.

 

“I’m not strong.” Whispered Jean.

 

Marco stared at him. “What are you talking about? Of course you are!”

 

There was a pause as they looked at each other. The shadow cast by Marco’s head plunged the right side of Jean’s face into shadow. There was something unnerving about the sight, as though half of Jean’s face was missing. Marco shifted a little to the side, and allowed the sun to catch his face completely. Jean squinted in the new light.

 

“I… I was sure I was going to die today.” Jean’s voice shook a little. Marco raised his eyebrows a little, but didn't speak, waiting to see where Jean was going with this. “So I promised myself that if… if somehow I _did_ make it, I would tell you the truth. About what happened.”

 

Marco bit his lip.  He had spent so long wondering, trying to figure out why things had gone the way they had, and now he was going to hear it. He wasn't sure why that terrified him, but it did.

 

“After my parents found out about us, they hit the roof. Well, my dad did, mostly. My mom just cried a lot.” Jean continued. “They… they didn't want me to see you anymore, or have anything to do with you. They figured it was your fault, that you had lead me astray or some bullshit.” Jean’s gaze dropped to the ground, and he paused to step carefully over some smashed glass. “They sent me to this big military school, to straighten me out or whatever. I could have fought back against it, but I didn’t. I was… weak.”

 

He kicked a stray bit of metal, which flew through a car windshield with a smash.

 

“That’s why you vanished? Because your parents wanted you to?” Marco said at last.

 

Jean shrugged, before shaking his head. “I could say yeah. But that would be hiding behind an excuse. Taking the easy way out. You deserve better, Marco.”

 

Marco waited, his breath held.

 

“For our whole… for our whole time together, I tried to hide my feelings, pretend I was too drunk to know what I was doing, pretend I didn't remember anything afterwards…I realise I never pretended very well, but it was enough. I was trying to convince myself my feelings weren't real. I… I really cared about you Marco, and I couldn't stand it. Being sent away was an excuse. I cut myself off from you because I couldn't deal with how I felt, and I know we weren't even a proper thing, like, you probably never saw it as anything more than messing around, but… b-but… once I realised… how I felt…” Jean swallowed. “I loved you. I loved you, Marco Bott, and it burned, and I was terrified. So I ran, and I never looked back. I abandoned you rather than facing that. I was weak. I’m still weak. I’m sorry.”

 

Marco felt something unravel inside his chest. “I… I understand.” He found that he was shaking slightly, but still he forced himself to meet Jean’s gaze. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me.” It sounded pretty lame to Marco, but he felt as though he tried to speak anymore his voice would break. There it was. The answer to all his questions. He had always assumed that Jean had never really cared, had thought that perhaps Jean had simply abandoned him without a second thought. But it was the exact opposite. Jean _had_ cared. Cared so much it hurt. Cared so much that he had been scared enough to run. Marco wasn't able to forgive Jean completely, not quite yet. But now he understood. That was a start.

 

But there was something else Marco felt, something harder to pinpoint.

 

_I loved you, Marco Bott_

Then it clicked. The past tense.

 

Because as much as Marco hated to admit it, as much as it still hurt…

 

Marco wanted Jean to love him _now._

 

_Stop this._ He told himself sternly. _You can’t get involved with Jean again. You’re leaving for Ende as soon as you get the chance. You're leaving, just like he did, and you aren’t looking back. Even if that means hurting him and yourself all over again._

Marco felt sick to the stomach. He had stupidly let himself get close to Jean again. But, as much as he hated it, he didn't have a choice. He _had_ to find his family.

 

The group had stopped up ahead, standing the back of a white lorry.

 

“I think we can sleep in here in some degree of safety.” Armin said as Jean and Marco caught up with the rest of them.

 

“Ooh, a Lays van! Maybe there'll be chips inside!” Said Sahsa, and Connie’s stomach rumbled.

 

She reached for the door.

 

“Wait!” Mikasa levelled her gun at the doors. “Open it quickly, and move behind me.”

 

Sasha nodded, her face paling in fear. She crept forwards, and jerked the door open, before leaping behind Mikasa with a squeak. A few packets of chips slid from the van and onto the pavement. For a moment nobody moved.

 

“Well.” Began Connie. “I guess that means its safe –“

 

He was interrupted when a sweaty six-foot lorry driver with a serious beer belly hurtled forwards from the depths of the lorry and launched at Connie with a howl, knocking the pair of them to the ground.

 

“Gah- aak!” Connie struggled underneath the crushing weight, holding the man’s face, which was slimy with drool away, while trying to free his other arm, which was crushed between them.

 

“Connie!” Shrieked Sasha.

 

“I can’t get a clear shot!” Shouted Mikasa, with an edge of panic to her voice Marco wasn't used to hearing. She had her gun trained on the struggling pair, but they were thrashing around so violently there was no way she could shoot the guy without risking hitting Connie.

 

Suddenly, the choice was taken out of her hands. Sasha flew forward, and with strength Marco hadn't known she had, she tackled him around the waist, rolling both of them sideways off of Connie. The pair struggled as Sasha frantically tried to keep him down.

 

“Don't-you-dare!” She yelled. Using her arm to pin down one of it's arms and her foot to pin the other, she used her free hand to pull a kitchen knife from her pocket.

 

Marco had to close his eyes as the screeches were cut off abruptly. When he opened them, Sasha was standing over the body, breathing heavily, her hands shaking.

 

Before anything could say anything, Connie was on his feet beside her, pulling her into a tight hug. For a moment Sasha was frozen, but within seconds she was relaxing into the hug, letting her arms curl around Connie’s waist. There were a few coughs as the others set to clearing a space in the lorry, leaving the two to have their moment. Marco smiled sadly. Sasha and Connie. He could see it working.

 

He was suddenly struck by how much he was going to miss the lunatics he had spent the last day and a bit hanging out with. Listening to Eren and Mikasa bickering. Connie and Sasha giggling over some private joke. Armin and Jean chatting. Jean…

 

_No._ Thought Marco. _Stop feeling like that about him. Not now you know you're leaving._

 

He watched Armin and Eren laying out their sleeping bags amid heaps of chip packets.

 

_Night._ Thought Marco.  _I'll wait until night. Take a turn on watch duty. Slip away while they're sleeping. I'll be long gone before anyone notices._

 

There was that feeling of resolve again, deep within his chest. He knew he had to go to Ende. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

 

_Jean…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This isn't a road trip!" Yells Armin. "YES IT IS" Screams lorry zombie. He just wanted to join in the fun, and what did he get for his trouble? Sash-attack. BOOM.
> 
> Eeh Sasha and Connie happened and I blame *certain commenters* for talking me into it. You know who you are >:)
> 
> Ominous note: Things are about to get dark. Very. If you want out, now is about the time. (distant evil laughter) 
> 
> In other news, please please keep the comments and kudos coming, because it really motivates me so much I can't even explain \\(^_^)/


	9. The Horse and the Rainbow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easy come, easy go.

As Jean laid down and prepared to sleep, his mind buzzed with the events of the day. Frankly, he was amazed he had survived long enough to find the others. He rolled onto his side, trying not to groan as his weight shifted onto his injuries. Smashing through a shop window had seemed like a great idea, until he had slipped and stabbed himself on smashed glass. But he had shaken off the zombies safely enough, even if he had run himself ragged in the process. And after that his day had just gotten better and better. Well, staggering up the road with a heavy backpack hadn’t been much fun… but he had finally told Marco the truth, which was one weight off his shoulders. Marco… it was hard to tell what Marco thought about it all. But Jean wasn’t sensing resentment from him anymore, and when he had first found his way to the others again, having Marco fussing and worrying over him like a damn mother hen had been… nice. 

Not that he was telling Marco that, of course.

The guy had been acting so nicely ever since he had returned, offering to carry his bag, volunteering for the first watch. Maybe he felt guilty for letting Jean be the distraction. Or maybe it was just that being around other people was doing Marco good, and he was simply becoming more like he used to be.

Jean smiled into his sleeping bag. Life was good- or, as good as it got in a world ravaged by zombies. Clutching his rifle to his chest, he drifted off to sleep. The last thing he remembered seeing was Marco’s outline, crouched at the doors to the lorry, watching over them.

Like a guardian angel. Thought Jean’s tired mind. A freckly guardian angel.

Jean slept.

*** 

He was woken abruptly by a bald head leaning over him.

“CONNIE!” Jean jerked upright, smashing his head off Connie’s in the process. The pair took a moment to clutch at their heads and groan. As Jean shook himself out of his dreams, he realised everyone else was awake too.

“What the hell is going on?!” Asked Jean, continuing to rub his head. “Are you trying to give me brain damage?”

“Well, sorry!” Said Connie, failing to look even remotely sorry. “We thought you might know something!”

“About what?!”

“About Marco. He’s gone.”

*** 

When Jean burst out of the lorry, the part of his brain usually responsible for conscious thought was stuck on one thought alone: NO. 

“MARCO!” Jean howled as he ran. He didn’t even have to think about where he was running to; as soon as he realised Marco had gone, he just knew. The goddam idiot hadn’t given up on his family, and had gone on a wild one-man crusade to rescue them. Marco’s stubbornness would have been almost endearing if it wasn’t going to get the idiot killed.

“MARCO!” Jean yelled again. Suddenly there was a scampering noise, and something dark and shapeless flew at him from the dark. Jean was lucky; his reflexes were just fast enough. He turned, raised his rifle and pulled the trigger in one fluid movement. From the dark there was a scream followed by silence. Jean didn’t move. He wouldn’t put it past one of the bastards to fake being dead and attack as soon as his back was turned.

When a hand landed roughly on his shoulder. Jean nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You’re going to get yourself killed running around and screaming like that.” Mikasa’s tone was that of someone who was not impressed, yet there was an underlying edge of sympathy to it. “Come back, Jean. You’re not going to find him tonight.”

For a moment Jean considered running. But Mikasa’s grip on his shoulder tightened a little, and he crumbled.

“Yeah.”

It was all he could think to say.

*** 

The looks Jean received from the others on his return made him uncomfortable. They sat in the back of the lorry around the camping torch, silence hanging heavily over them.

“Why?” Asked Eren eventually. “Why did he leave?”

Jean explained quickly about Ende, and Marco’s determination to find his family. He willed his voice to sound normal, but from the sympathetic gazes he was getting, he sensed it wasn’t working.

“Oh, man. The guy’s as good as dead.” Said Connie. He caught sight of Jean’s expression. “Uh, I mean, he’ll be fine! That’s what I meant to say. I’m sure he’ll be fine…” 

They lapsed once more into an uncomfortable silence. Jean stared fixatedly at a spot on the wall of the lorry opposite him, trying to settle the tornado that was tearing through his mind. Marco. Marco. Marco. He had just found the guy again, just found some hope of fixing what they had, and now the guy was gone. Maybe even dead. A thousand images flickered through Jean’s head – Marco lying dead in a ditch, Marco swarmed by zombies and coated in blood, Marco tearing towards him with a manic grin and blood dripping from his mouth- 

A wave of nausea rolled over Jean, and he clutched his arms to his stomach.

No. Please don’t let him become one of them. Please, anything but that.

“Are you going to go after him?” Interrupted Eren. Jean gritted his teeth.

“I think he’s made it pretty obvious that he doesn’t want to be followed. He doesn’t need us. He doesn’t even want us! And he especially doesn’t want me!” Jean spat. While he knew that pretending not to care never solved any problems, he also knew it was a great way to numb the pain until he could deal with it.

“But...” Eren was frowning, as if working on a complex puzzle. “That’s bullshit. You love each other.”

Jean stared at Eren, his mouth hanging open. “Wh…I…Bu…”

“It was pretty obvious, Jean.” Armin put a hand on his arm. “It was clear that you two cared about each other.”

“What? How?!”

Sasha snickered. “Well, how about we make a list. First, the guy gets into a van with a bunch of complete strangers and no clue where he’s going just because you ask him to-“

“-you spend half the night whispering to each other, don’t deny it because I heard-“

“-you volunteer for a suicide mission just to save his ass-!”

“-spends the whole day in a panic because he thinks you’re dead-“

“-and when you turned up at last you gave each other the most disgustingly soppy looks I have ever had the misfortune to witness!”

“Kinda like the looks you and Sasha were giving each other earlier, huh Connie?” Interrupted Eren, a smirk growing on his face.

Connie flushed red. “If you don’t mind, we are talking about Jean and Marco here!”

“Oh, right…” the group fell into nodding in agreement.

Jean felt as though he was frozen in place. He remembered in High School when the very idea of anyone, anyone finding out that Jean, the popular kid who was good at sport and had a safe and secure future, was in love with another man- it would have been unthinkable. Jean may have lost Marco when he moved away- much to his eternal regret- but he had also escaped the reaction. The social downfall. The bullying. Becoming an outcast. Yet here he was, sitting amongst all the friends he had in the world save one, and they accepted him. It was so simple and unspoken, yet it was there. They knew Jean was- bisexual? He hadn’t thought about it much, but that was the label which seemed to fit best- and yet Jean’s world had not ended. 

Maybe… maybe if these guys didn’t care, then Jean didn’t need to either. Six friends in the world- that was all Jean needed, really.

Except one of his friends- his best friend, and so much more- had gone.

And Jean was dammed if he wasn’t going to get him back.

“I’m going to find him. As soon as morning arrives, I’m going after him.”

Nobody spoke, but Mikasa looked at him with the slightest hint of a smile.

“When you find him- when, not if- tell him we said hi.” 

“I’ll tell him he’ll be seeing you all at the base real soon.” A hint of a smirk snuck into the corner of Jean’s mouth.

But as hopeful as he sounded in front of the others, once the lights were off, it was all he could do to curl himself into a ball and bite back the emotions tearing his insides apart. 

Marco, his sun, was gone, yet still Jean was burning.

Marco had to be alive. He had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeh this is a fairly nothingy chapter I'm sorry.
> 
> Note: There are many possible sexualities you can be if you are attracted to men and women other than bisexual. However, Jean isn't exactly educated on this kinda stuff so bi is the only one he really knows about, which is why he assumes that is what he is. Once more, if you have questions then google probs has the answers ^_^
> 
> Also I realise the chapter title is weird af but I'm running out of zombie films to use
> 
> Until next time lovelies xx


	10. Warm Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very unlikely yet very convenient coincidence, and Jean being a little creepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: (BRIEF) SUICIDE MENTION

Ende was not as Marco remembered it. In the dim light he could make out the trash lying on the streets, the cars parked haphazardly in the middle of the road, the (oh god oh god) occasional body.

 

It was a ghost town. Just like the city had been.

 

But that didn’t mean his family wasn’t there. His mom was smart, and would go to the ends of the earth to protect Marco’s sister, just as he would. They were probably keeping a low profile, holing up at home and waiting for everything to blow over.

 

Marco headed across the little town. He didn’t see any people- or not-so-people- just empty roads and abandoned houses. Slowly, the streets became more familiar. Marco turned a corner, and found himself at the gates to his old school.

 

“Now that’s a blast from the past.” Marco wandered forwards, standing just in front of the gate which hung on one hinge. There were a lot of bad memories hanging over the place like black clouds, but they were punctuated by the occasional ray of light. Marco caught sight of an old oak tree at the edge of the grounds. He remembered a warm day, as he sat leaning against it, a book in hand.

 

_“Hey, you!”_

_“Oh, huh?”_

_A cute smile. Amber eyes._

_“You look kinda lonely sitting there on your own. Do you want to come sit with us?”_

_“Uh, s-shure.”_

_“Great! My name’s Jean. What about yours?”_

_“Marco.”_

_“Nice to meet you…Marco.”_

Marco smiled faintly. There were some good memories at least.

 

He turned away from the gates, and set off down another road. He knew his house wouldn’t be much further…yet his legs were so tired, and it would be far safer to wait until sunrise. As much as he wanted to keep going, it would be stupid to come so far and end up dead because he had been too tired to fight properly, failing just when he was so close.

 

Marco wandered down a cul-de-sac, looking for a place to crash.

 

When he saw Jean’s old house, he wondered if his body had taken him there on purpose, just to spite him.

 

Marco looked at the tall building with the large, double-glazed windows and the pristine wooden door, brass knocker still in place. The front garden hadn’t been tended in a while, but among the weeds a few surviving flowers still pocked their heads up towards the sky.

 

Marco found his feet had grown minds of their own as they lead him up the path to Jean’s home. It made sense anyway. Marco already knew the layout of Jean’s house, so obviously it would be safer to crash there for an hour or two of sleep than any of these other houses. All the same, a dagger twisted in his gut as Marco thought of the man he had left. Had they noticed he had gone yet?

 

The door key was still under the plant pot by the door. Marco was amazed at how much the world could change, yet the little things would stay the same.

 

Marco tiptoed through the house, axe in hand, feeling like an intruder and shivering in a house that had never been warm even before the apocalypse. A quick glance over told Marco that the place was devoid of anything likely to try killing him.

 

Inevitably, it seemed, it was Jean’s old room that Marco ended up settling in.

 

He remembered where it was; of course he did. The pair of them had spent dozens of evenings there, messing around on the computer or playing on Jean’s Xbox. Marco had once mentioned how lucky Jean was to have a TV in his room, to which Jean scowled and replied that it was just another way to make sure he stayed out of his parent’s way. The room was much like Marco remembered it- the same smell, the same mess, yet with the feeling that it had been empty for a long time.

 

There was a thick layer of dust on the surfaces. The posters of bands Jean had loved in High School hung on the walls and his desk was scattered with clutter. The calendar on his wall still showed the month Jean had left. Marco glanced at it and sighed, before flopping down on the bed. All his energy had deserted him.

 

He pulled his rucksack off his shoulders and threw it onto the floor, before finally gathering enough energy to crawl under the covers.

 

It wasn’t until he breathed in deeply and caught the scent of Jean’s deodorant that the pain really hit Marco. He curled tightly into a ball under the covers, failing to muffle a sob.

 

“I’m sorry, Jean. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

***

 

Jean was sick to death of walking. His rucksack pushed down on his shoulders, his feet were aching, and no matter how quickly he walked he couldn’t escape the screaming inside his head. It was a vicious torrent of panic and worry, all centred around Marco. Was he alive? Was he safe? Had he reached his house? What if he had? What might he have found there? The answers to these questions didn’t bear thinking about, yet that was all Jean did.

 

It was midday according to his watch, so unless Marco had stopped to sleep, he would have reached his home hours ago. So why did Jean feel his legs slowing to a stop in the middle of a street some distance from Marco’s house?

 

He turned slowly to his left, and everything slid into place.

 

His old house.

 

His stomach flipped at the sight of the place where he’d spent so many miserable years. The place he had vowed never to return to.

 

He hadn’t seen his parents in a long time. Yet Jean suddenly found himself wondering what had happened to them. Had they left with so many others, fleeing to the countryside to escape the waves of zombies? Or had they taken the easy way out, maybe with pills or razors or a bullet each through the brain?

 

Jean didn’t want to know; he really didn’t. So why was he finding himself walking up the path to his house?

 

Maybe because knowing would be better than the images he would torture himself with for the rest of his life if he didn’t find out.

 

The front door key wasn’t in its old hiding-place under the plant pot, but the key to the back door was still under the mat on the back garden patio. He let himself in as quietly as possible, and the sudden familiarity was dizzying. He had grown up here. He had had his heart broken here. And he had left this house in pain and rejection. Too many memories, too much pain.

 

Jean tiptoed from room to room, terrified of what he might discover yet at the same time with a desperate need to _know._ The ground floor was clear, and it seemed the upstairs would be too. He paused outside the last door; the only room he had left to check. His own.

 

He grinned faintly at the sign on his door which had been there since he was eight:

_Jean’s SecRET LayeR! Do not entER!!!!!_

Jean pushed the door open quietly, and came to a standstill in shock.

 

_There’s someone sleeping in my bed._ He thought to himself, sounding like he had come straight out of _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_.

 

In the blink of an eye Jean had his rifle aimed at the shape lying under his blankets. But just before he pulled the trigger, he stopped. A head of hair peaked up a little above the covers. A very, very familiar head.

 

Jean approached the bed, as slowly and gently as he could. As he came up along the side, the rest of the head became visible, but more importantly, a face, an adorable, freckled face wearing a worried expression even in sleep -

 

“Marco.” Jean whispered in a tone of wonder. His rifle fell harmlessly to his side.

 

For a few seconds all Jean could do was stare in wonder at the real-life deity that had somehow appeared in his bed. This _couldn’t_ be a coincidence. Something, or someone, had to be messing with him. Maybe, finally God or whatever had decided to give him a break.

 

_Hey, I heard you’re in love with this boy, so I just thought I’d wrap him up all safe and warm and stick him in your bed for you!_

 

Jean wasn’t in the habit of praying, but in that moment he was really quite tempted to get down on his knees and simply cry his thanks to the sky, because here he was, Marco Bott, safe and sound and alive.

 

Jean was however, interrupted from doing this when he heard a pitiful whimper coming from the bed.

 

“No! No, please…”

 

Jean was at Marco’s side in an instant. Marco was shivering under the covers, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I said I’m sorry, please! Please just don’t hurt them…” Marco’s voice cracked in his sleep, as did Jean’s nerve. He grabbed Marco by the shoulders, shaking him gently.

 

“Wake up, Marco! It’s just a nightmare, I swear, wake up! I’m here!”

 

Marco didn’t awaken, but his breathing slowed and steadied, and while he was still cold to the touch, he wasn’t shaking quite as badly as before.  Jean was about to pull away, when Marco let out a soft whine. If Jean’s heart had felt like it was breaking before, it was in goddam _pieces_ now.

 

“Ok. Ok, you idiot.” Jean whispered to himself. For a moment, he was going to let go of all his worries about consequences or explanations, and simply comfort his friend. He slid his backpack of his shoulders and let it drop to the floor alongside where Marco had cast his own aside. Then he gently lifted the covers and slid into the little bed beside Marco, letting his arms wrap around the other’s waist. When Marco awoke, there would be questions and explanations, but for now, Marco was cold and alone and Jean wouldn’t stand for it. The other man shifted a little in his arms, and Jean’s breath stopped as Marco nuzzled into his neck. Then for a few minutes, all was still as Jean gradually felt his body heat seeping into Marco.

 

“I’m sorry, Jean.” Mumbled a voice still caught in a dream. “I left you.”

 

Jean hesitated for a moment before answering, making sure that Marco was really still asleep.

 

“It’s only fair.” He whispered back. “I left you, too.”

 

“But you came back.”

 

“Stop talking in your sleep, idiot.”

 

“Mmmmhmmmmph.”

 

There was no more sleep-talking after that, and if Jean could have chosen a moment in his life to freeze and live in forever, he was pretty sure it would be in this one. Waves of relief washing over him, curled up in a bed and wrapped up in his Marco, Jean hadn’t been happier in so long.

 

Eventually, he too, drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean u cant just.. climb into bed with someone who has no idea you're there? Creepy much?  
> What can I say both of them turning up in the same house is uhh... astronomically big coincidence/very bad plot writing on my part. But who am I to keep Jean and Marco apart? (evil, slightly foreshadowing laughter) One chapter was hard enough, and I am a weak, weak soul. This chapter is like 99% self indulgent ANGSTY FLUFF with maybe 1% actual plot. Not sorry.
> 
> People keep asking me to make Marco get reeeallly mad at Jean... but tbh waking up to find a wild Jean in your bed... how could Marco be mad... how could aNyOnE...
> 
> Maybe there will be grumbles or maybe there will be snuggles the struggle is real.


	11. Return and Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snuggles and Struggles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REMEMBER I WARNED ABOUT THINGS GETTING DARK  
> THATS HAPPENING NOW  
> GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN  
> Also one of the characters mentioned is from another fanfic; details at the end.

_Marco pushed the swing, watching as Marie flew away and back again, giggling hysterically and asking to go higher. His mother sat on the park bench nearby, glancing up from her book to smile every so often. The day was warm, the park they spent so many afternoons in over the years nearly deserted. Later they would lie a rug out on the grass and have a picnic. It was Marco’s favourite memory. He never wanted to wake up from it. But every time he dreamt of it the storm-clouds would appear. They would eat up his family, before turning to Marco-_

 

And then Marco would wake with a jump.

 

When Marco woke that day, his face was centimetres from Jean’s.

 

He shifted his arm from where it lay resting around Jean’s waist to poke him in the forehead.

 

Yep. Definitely real.

 

Jean’s eyes opened.

 

“Oh… hey Marco.” He blinked the sleep from his eyes. He shifted slightly, and his eyes widened, as if realising just how closely they were pressed up against each other. His leg, tangled up between Marco’s shifted.

 

Marco took this as a prompt to kick him in the shin.

 

“Gaah!” Jean tumbled backwards out of the bed and onto the floor with a thump, his eyes widening as the last of the sleep was literally kicked out of him. “What was that for?!”

 

“What the _hell_ do you think you are doing here?!” Marco snarled, scrambling out of the bed to stand over Jean. “You weren’t supposed to follow me! You were supposed to go north to safety!” Marco grabbed the first thing which came to hand – a cuddly toy Pikachu – and threw it at Jean’s head. “Go find safety, you absolute idiot, not follow me! How the hell did you find me?!” He grabbed a pillow off Jean’s bed and knelt over him, smacking Jean around the head with it.

 

 Jean made several muffled sounds of protest, trying to grab Marco’s hands.

 

“And for another thing, WHY DID YOU GET INTO BED WITH ME?!”

 

Jean managed to push himself upwards, grabbing the pillow out of Marco’s hands and hurling it into another corner of the room as he did.

 

“Would it kill you to let me get a word in edgeways?”

 

Marco scowled.

 

Jean rolled his eyes. “You were freezing to death. I had to warm you up.”

 

“Ah.” Marco felt himself blush. “But that doesn’t answer my other questions!”

 

Jean groaned and slumped backwards onto the floor. Marco became aware of the fact that he was still kneeling over him, practically straddling him, and the position would have been…distracting, if he hadn’t been so irritated.

 

“I just found you by chance, I didn’t know you’d be in my old house.” Jean grumbled.

 

“But why did you follow me? I thought I made it obvious, I had to -” Marco was cut off when Jean sat up again abruptly, grabbing Marco by the hem of his t-shirt.

 

“How could you – what else did you expect me to do? After everything I told you?” Now it was Jean’s turn to be angry. 

 

“I- I thought you didn’t feel that way about me anymore!”

 

Somehow Jean managed to look even angrier. Without letting go of Marco’s shirt he scrambled to his feet, pulling the taller man up with him.

 

“You idiot! Of course I do, I never stopped loving you, no matter how much you hate me now! But you left, Marco, you left me!”

 

Without stopping to think, Marco swung his fist at Jean’s face. It wasn’t a particularly hard punch, but it was enough to send Jean stumbling backwards, his face plastered in shock.

 

“Well. I suppose you know what being left feels like now.” Marco spat it out before he could stop himself.

 

Jean’s eyes widened in shock and his face went white.

 

“Marco, I…” Jean’s knees buckled and he stumbled forwards. Marco caught him by the arms.

 

The fight left them both in the same moment. Marco’s head slumped forwards until their foreheads were resting against each other, his hands still on Jean’s arms.

 

“You still love me?”

 

Jean nodded.

 

Marco’s throat went dry. “If you had told me that…”

 

Jean raised his eyes to meet Marco’s. “Finish that sentence.”

 

Marco’s stomach twisted, but he leaned forwards, letting his lips brush lightly against Jean’s.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

 

Jean shook his head, his eyes pleading.

 

“I love you, Jean. I always have.” Marco wasn’t sure when it had happened, but his arms were curled around Jean, whose arms were resting around his neck. It wasn’t an embrace which was deliberately romantic or passionate. It was a simple need to be close, to hold each other.

 

Marco buried his face in Jean’s shoulder, and a second later Jean did the same.

 

“I shouldn’t have left you. And I’m sorry. But I need to do this.”

 

There was a pause before Jean sighed into Marco’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry too. And I know you need to do this. That doesn’t make it any better of an idea. But I’m with you. No matter what.”

 

They stood like that for a while, just holding each other. In films, when people told each other how they felt there was a swell of dramatic music followed by passionate kissing and credits. Real life wasn’t quite so neatly wrapped up. Confessing love was supposed to make you happy, but the feeling in Marco’s gut was terror. Jean loved him. And he loved Jean. But that wasn’t the problem.

 

The problem was that now he had something to lose.

 

He hadn’t quite understood why love had made Jean scared enough to leave until then. But now he could see that it wasn’t fear of love that had scared Jean then and Marco now. It was fear of losing it.

 

***

 

Marco’s house looked untouched by the devastation of the town surrounding it. It looked peaceful.

 

_Too peaceful._ Hissed the voice at the back of Marco’s head that he just couldn’t keep quiet.

 

Jean stood comfortingly beside him, rifle in hand.

 

“I’d just like to make it really clear that I think this is the worst idea. Like, really.”

 

Marco shrugged. There was nothing Jean could say that would stop him from going in.

 

“Are you coming or aren’t you?”

 

Jean sighed. “You know I am. Just… be ready, ok? For anything.”

 

Marco’s ears were deaf to Jean’s warnings. His family would be there, alive and well. That was the only possible outcome his mind would allow.

 

You could have heard a pin drop as they tiptoed into Marco’s kitchen. It wasn’t quite as tidy as Jean’s had been, but only in the way that was natural for a family home. Crayon scribbles with the name _Marie_ written in wobbly letters on the bottom were pinned on the fridge. Marco smiled at one which showed a tall stick figure holding hands with a smaller figure in a dress.

 

“S-so…” Jean interrupted. “Should we look around, or…?”

 

There was a scuffling noise from under the kitchen table. Jean’s eyes widened in shock for a second, before a small figure launched at him.

 

Jean shrieked as the figure knocked him to the ground. He struggled for a few seconds, but quickly managed to roll over until they were pinned beneath him.

 

“Marco! My gun! Pick it up!” Jean grunted as he grappled with the figure. Marco reacted without thinking, grabbing the weapon from where Jean had dropped it and aiming.

 

Jean had managed to pin its arms and legs, and Marco could now see clearly the face.

 

His grip on the gun slackened.

 

“Marco! What are you doing?! Kill it!”

 

“Marie?” Marco looked at the little girl in Jean’s arms. Despite the wriggling, shrieking and grime, there was no mistake. Her hair was still tied in the two plaits she so often wore, and her face was as freckled as ever. It was Marco’s little sister.

 

Marco’s little sister was a zombie.

 

“Oh shit. Oh shit.” Jean whimpered as he realised. Marie was a lot smaller than him, but it was taking all of Jean’s weight to keep her pinned and stop her from biting him.

 

The gun was still hanging loosely in Marco’s hands. He stared blankly as the two of them grappled. Time seemed to slow as Marco’s world turned upside down and inside out around him. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. He was supposed to be finding his mom and his sister holed up safely and taking them north to the Base, not this. It was wrong, so wrong.

 

“M-Marco! Please!” Jean gasped as he struggled. “I can’t-can’t keep her held down like this!”

 

Marco’s hands began to shake.

 

“My sister, Jean. My baby sister…” his voice broke.

 

“I know! I know, Marco, but you have to! You have to, please…”

 

Marco let out a sob and slowly levelled the gun at Marie’s head. At first his mind flashed back to the child he had killed the other day as they fled from the house. Marco had torn himself apart afterwards, the image of the tiny crumpled body on the pavement taking over his mind. That had been agony, but in his current situation it was but a paper-cut in the face of a stab wound. Then his thoughts tore him away from that memory and back to the last time he had seen Marie, smiling at him over the webcam and waving one of her drawings at him. A tear rolled down Marco’s cheek as he looked into the vacant, howling face of the creature that hadn’t been his sister in a long, long time.

 

“I’m sorry, Marie. I’m so sorry…” Marco trailed off. He closed his eyes, blacking out the face in front and remembering instead the smiling one he knew and loved.

 

He pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang, followed by silence.

 

He still didn’t open his eyes, not when he heard Jean’s gasp, not when he heard movement as Jean got to his feet, and not even when he felt himself being pulled into Jean’s chest. He heard the sound of Jean’s rifle clattering to the floor, and then he heard howls that sounded as though they were coming from far away; but Marco knew that couldn’t be right. He was the one making them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marie is not my character but is from Lowly's (life-ruining) fic Like a Drum.   
> I didn't actually plan on stealing her and I'm very sorry but that fic is literally so good that I forgot she doesn't exist in canon.  
> I'm just an awfully lazy and unoriginal person tbh.
> 
> In other news this chapter was not fun to write at all and I'm sorry it really isn't my best.


	12. House of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a time when Jean could protect Marco.  
> That time has passed.

Jean had never been good with emotions. He had eased Marco into the living room- anywhere away from the body was better- and led him to a seat on the couch so Jean could check the rest of the house was safe. Marco seemed to have gone into shock. He sat mutely on the couch staring blankly at the wall opposite, and when Jean told him he was going to check the rest of the house he was pretty sure his words fell on deaf ears.

 

As soon as Jean was out of the room, he slumped back against the wall, shoving his fist into his mouth to bite back a scream.

 

A little girl. A little freckled girl who was supposed to be going to school and playing with friends was now lying dead in Marco’s kitchen. His shirt was flecked with her blood.

 

Jean closed his eyes and scrunched his face up. To the count of five. That’s how long he would give himself.

 

He began to count in his head, bringing his other hand up to clutch at his head. Five.

 

He let the pain and horror wash over him, control him completely. Four.

 

It hurt. Oh God did it hurt. He hadn't known Marco's sister that well, but even then, seeing her die like that...Three.

 

He didn’t make a sound, because Marco was near, just a room away, and Jean had to be strong for him. Two.

 

But inside Jean’s head he was screaming. One.

 

Then Jean was back, pulling himself away from the edge and freezing over once more. He pushed the emotions down into the deep dark where they couldn’t get to him. He had to keep going. He had to do it for Marco.

 

He began to check the house over. There was no way he was going back in the kitchen, and the living room was safe. That left the upstairs.

 

He moved silently, gun at the ready. He didn’t want another repeat of what had happened downstairs, especially without Marco on hand to help this time. If anything moved, he would be ready.

 

He found all the rooms undisturbed until there was only one left. The one he remembered from his visits to Marco’s house to be Marie’s room.

 

As he pushed the door open his knees buckled beneath him.

 

He could almost imagine what had happened. Marie would have been bitten, maybe at school or in the street- sometime in the early days before people became aware of the virus that was spreading like wildfire. It would have been too early on for anyone to realise what was going on, what being bitten actually meant. When she started going pale and feverish, her mom would probably have assumed it was just a bug and kept her in from school. And when her mom went up to check on her the next morning-

 

Nausea rolled over Jean as he looked down at the body that had been Marco’s mother, lying amidst a chaos of broken furniture and scattered toys. She had put up a fight- that much was clear- but it hadn’t been enough by the time Marie had turned zombie. It hadn’t been quick. It hadn’t been clean. And, judging by what was left, zombie-Marie had been living off what was left of the body for as long as she had been locked inside the house.

 

Silently, trying not to breathe in, he closed the door. He hadn’t seen that. He hadn’t seen that.

 

“We’re leaving.” Said Jean as soon as he returned to the sitting room. “Now.”

 

Marco was on the edge of his sanity as it was. He didn’t need to see the scene Jean had found upstairs. Better for him to never know.

 

“Jean…” Marco hadn’t moved from where Jean had left him on the couch. “The body, Jean. We have to bury my sister. Please.”

 

Jean paused, before crossing the room to Marco and kneeling in front of him. He held Marco’s head, pressing their foreheads together.

 

“I know, Marco. I know. But we can’t. It’s not safe. We have to leave here, get out of this house. It’s toxic.”

 

Jean was sure Marco would object; he had been so fixated on coming here, saving his family. But Marco just nodded his head limply, all his strength gone.

 

Back to his house seemed as good a plan as any; Marco wasn’t in any state to travel far, and Jean was emotionally drained to say the least. They could recover there, restock on supplies, and prepare to set off north again.

 

Marco didn’t even ask where they were going. He followed Jean silently, his face ashen. Jean slowed his pace until they were walking side by side, and silently took Marco’s hand in his. It wasn’t a gesture intended to be romantic, just the only comforting action he could think of. Marco didn’t react, but allowed his fingers to interlock with Jean’s. Neither of them spoke the whole walk back, but through that little physical contact they shared what words could never explain.

 

Even once they reached Jean’s place they didn’t speak. Jean let them in and locked the door behind them.

 

Finally the silence was interrupted.

 

“Tired, Jean.” Marco whispered. “I’m so tired.” Jean could tell from the look in his eyes that it wasn’t the kind of tired that could be solved by sleeping.

 

“I know. I am too.”

 

It was so natural for Jean to lead them up the stairs, into Jean’s old room, into his bed. It felt natural when they clung to each other under the covers, searching for the little comfort they could find in each other. It also felt natural when, later that night, the tears returned at last, and Jean felt his heart tear itself in half as Marco came apart in his arms, knowing that the pain the other felt couldn’t be eased or dulled no matter how hard Jean might try. It was agony, the worst Jean had ever known, but it was nothing compared to what Marco was probably feeling. He could only grip onto Marco as the pain tore through the both of them, waiting for the storm to pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \\(*.*)/


	13. 2 - 8 Days Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 - unlucky for some.

_About a week later._

 

_“They’re gaining!” Shouted the girl who had introduced herself as Krista. Her partner, taller and dark haired, laughed._

_“Yeah, no shit!”_

_“This is your fault!” Mikasa shouted over her shoulder. “You led them to us!”_

_“Can we please argue about this later?” Armin threw a hunting knife behind him without looking, hitting the leading zombie dead in the eye._

_“If you dumbasses hadn’t tried to mug us in the first place, this would never have happened!” Eren hollered._

_The tall one laughed again, while Krista apologised frantically._

_“Sasha! You have to leave me, I’m slowing us down.” Connie winced, trying not to lean on Sasha’s shoulder as he hobbled on his twisted ankle._

_“No!” The cut on her face was bleeding steadily, causing strands of hair to stick to her face. “We’re so close Connie! You can’t give up!”_

_Suddenly the air exploded with gunfire._

_“Special Operations Squad! Put your hands on your head, or you_ will _be shot!” A low male voice ordered._

_The grass behind the group was littered with the bodies of the zombies that had been chasing them mere seconds ago._

_Nobody moved._

_From behind the trees emerged half a dozen soldiers in full camouflage gear, guns trained upon them._

_One of the shorter ones approached the group, pulling a balaclava down to expose his face, which was pale and angular and bore a dark expression._

_Without acknowledging the group before him, he held a hand held radio up to his mouth._

_“Captain Levi here. Checking in half a mile from the South Wall, located seven survivors. Returning them to South Gate for checks and processing. Over.”_

_The crackle of the radio and the group’s gasps for breath were the only sounds._

_“This is the outer perimeter of Base Rose. You’re to come with us. You’ll be safe inside the base.” He deadpanned. “Unless, of course, you’re infected. Then we’re going to shoot you.”_

_His eyes suddenly focused on a spot behind them._

_The group turned, to see Eren, who was staring in confusion at a trickle of blood flowing from a bite on his upper arm._

_“Interesting.” Levi raised his gun at Eren, and the other soldiers immediately copied._

_“No!” Mikasa stepped between them._

_“He was bitten, yet the zombies were still chasing him. Zombies don’t chase infected, yet they chase him, despite having clearly been bitten. Care to explain why?” Levi’s eyes gave nothing away._

_As they watched, the bite marks on Eren’s arm sealed up and began to fade._

_Still holding his gun in one hand, Levi raised his radio to his mouth once more._

_“Levi again. Get Erwin to the South Gate. He’d going to want to see this.”_

_“See what?” Mikasa growled._

_Levi raised an eyebrow._

_“Putting the cart before the horse is always a dangerous occupation. But… If the rumours are true, if immunes do exist… It would seem we just found one.”_

 

***

 

 

“So if you can get a hold of a few spare tins of food that’ll be us more or less ready.” Jean smiled across the table at Marco, the contents of both their rucksacks plus what they had gathered over the last couple days spread across the surface. “While you’re doing that I can raid the shooting range, see if there’s any ammo still hanging around.”

 

“Yeah, because people just leave deadly weaponry lying around, Jean.” Marco rolled his eyes.

 

“Worth a shot. Hey, shot, get it?”

 

Marco groaned loudly. “You’re obsessed with that damn rifle. I don’t see why you don’t swap for a baseball bat or something. Way more practical, and doesn’t need to be re-filled.”

 

“You’re just jealous of our love.” Jean cradled the gun in his arms like a baby. “Ssssh. Don’t listen to nasty Marco.” He crooned.

 

“I think I’ll go get that food now. I feel like I’m intruding on something here.”

 

Jean chuckled, walking around the table to catch Marco by his wrist.

 

“Love you.” He pulled Marco in for a kiss, and Marco found himself smiling, however faintly, against Jean’s lips.

 

The pain was still there of course, still tearing through him, but as long as they could be like this, as long as there was a reason to smile and a hand to hold, Marco could hope. He would heal. He would live on.

 

The first couple days had been the worst. Marco had struggled to move, to think, to breathe. But Jean had pulled him through it. Now they were preparing to set off north again. Maybe they weren’t rushing as much as they could, but… it had become sort of pleasant. There was enough food to live on, the area was pretty quiet, and Marco was basking in the almost domestic feel the pair of them had created in Jean’s old house. It had never seemed particularly homey during their High School years, but now that the pair of them were living there, eating there, sleeping there together…

 

Aside from the zombies, it was the ideal life.

 

That was another change for Marco. He called them zombies now. That’s what they were. Pretending they were anything else- pretending they were still _human_ \- meant thinking that the things he had killed were the people they used to be. That was the one thing Marco couldn’t deal with.

 

Eventually, as much as Marco regretted it, he broke the kiss.

 

“Come on.” He patted Jean’s chest. “Let’s get moving.”

 

Jean grinned. They grabbed their weapons, locked the house behind them and set off in their different ways.

 

***

 

Marco was trying to decide between tomato or onion soup when the shop attendant came hurtling towards him. Acting on reflex alone, he hurled the tin of onion soup at the zombie’s head.

 

_Tomato soup it is, then._ Thought Marco, slipping the other tin into his hoodie pocket before reaching for his axe. The zombie was only a little stunned, and within seconds it was back on its feet.

 

_Hi! My name is Jeremy Springer. I’m here to help!_ Read the ex-supermarket attendant’s badge. Marco would have laughed if he hadn’t been afraid for his life.

 

Formerly-Jeremy-Springer jumped forwards just as Marco swung his axe. For a moment, he was sure he had won. But at the last second, ex-Jeremy ducked into a rugby tackle, the top of the axe missing his head by inches. He knocked Marco to the floor, and the first thought to shoot through Marco’s head was _please don’t let me die in a goddam Wallmart, of all places_.

 

He grappled desperately with the zombie as they rolled from side to side, knocking more cans from the shelf, one of which struck Marco painfully on the head. For a moment his attention slipped. The next thing he knew the zombie was rolling off him, ignoring him completely. Marco stared in shock.

 

Zombies didn’t ignore humans. They chased them. Why was a zombie ignoring him-?

 

Suddenly Marco felt very cold. There was only one reason a zombie would ignore you.

 

He became aware of a dull pain in his forearm. Could it be that his attention had slipped long enough-

 

He looked down at his arm where the teeth marks could be seen. Marco stopped breathing. If it hadn’t broken the skin, he was ok, as long as it wasn’t in his blood-

 

As he watched, a single drop of red seeped from the deepest mark.

 

_Oh dear._ Thought Marco lamely. There didn’t seem to be a reaction big enough for this, so drastically underreacting seemed to be his only choice.

 

A strange calm settled over Marco. He looked at his watch. Maybe twelve hours, maybe more. That’s how long he had left to live.

 

That’s how long he had before he became a zombie.

 

Marco stared at his arm again, where a second droplet of blood was chasing after the first.

 

His life had just been cut to the space of a pitiful few hours, and for Marco there was only one way he could spend them. With Jean.

 

Slowly, he rolled down his sleeve over the bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dont  
> tell  
> me  
> you  
> weren't  
> expecting  
> this.


	14. The Omega Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marco tries to say goodbye.

_“They’ve made their decision.”_

_Eren’s head snapped up, and the chains around his wrists rattled._

_“You’re to join the Special Operations division of the Scouts under my supervision.” The shorter man approached the bars to Eren’s cell._

_“You’ve just about convinced command that whatever you are- human, zombie, something else- you’re on our side. But if I’m taking you on you need to convince me. So answer up. What the hell is it you want to do?”_

_There was a pause._

_“I wanna become a member of the Scouts…” A manic grin spread over Eren’s face. “…and slaughter every zombie that crosses my path.”_

_Levi’s eyes bore into him._

_“Huh. Well played.”_

***   


Jean found some suitable ammo after breaking into a few different lockers and safes. He was quick to return to what was no longer “his” house but “theirs”. He hummed a little to himself under his breath as he walked, enjoying the feel of the sun on the back of his neck. He knew Marco wasn’t ok, and probably would never completely be; but hell, in this world nobody was. He was alive and sometimes he even smiled. That was enough.

 

When he let himself into the house at last, he was welcomed by the smell of something cooking. He entered the kitchen, where Marco was stirring a pot of tomato soup on their gas stove. The table was set with the fancy china Jean’s mom had always saved for special occasions, and despite it being the middle of the day a candle was placed in the middle.

 

“What’s this?” Jean walked up behind Marco and slid his arms around the other’s waist. Marco hummed contentedly.

 

“I thought our last day could be a bit special.” There was something fragile about Marco’s voice that Jean couldn’t quite pinpoint. He nuzzled into Marco’s shoulder.

 

“We’re just setting off for the Base, Marco. It’s not the end of the world- that already happened.”

 

“Hush, you.” Marco joked weakly. “Just let me make this special.”

 

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Marco. You know that, right?”

 

Marco didn’t reply, instead turning in Jean’s arms to kiss him softly. Something tugged in Jean’s gut, and he let his hands slide over Marco’s back before going lower.

 

Marco leaned in to press a kiss against Jean’s collarbone.

 

“Food first, idiot.”

 

“Goddam it, Marco.”

 

They smiled at each other.

 

***

 

Something had changed about Marco since Jean had seen him that morning, but as much as Jean was driving himself mad about it, he just couldn’t figure out what. When they kissed he could taste a hunger on the other that hadn’t been there before, as if he was desperate for more kisses than they had the time to share. The way he clung to him, as well- it was tighter than before, nails leaving marks in Jean’s back. Like he was gripping onto Jean for dear life, terrified of losing him. That, Jean supposed, made sense. Their current life was far from safe. Maybe the danger of the situation was beginning to hit Marco. Afterwards, when they curled up in each other’s arms, Jean listened to the steady thump-thump of Marco’s heart, feeling his ribcage rise and fall under his head.

 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Whispered Marco’s voice.

 

“I could ask you the same question.”

 

“I don’t feel like it. I just… want to stay like this with you. In this moment. Forever. But I can’t, so I’m staying awake. That way it’ll last longer.”

 

Jean shifted a little, so he was at a better angle to press a kiss to the side of Marco’s neck.

 

“We’ll have to move eventually.”

 

“But not yet.” Marco’s voice was insistent. Jean felt the other’s fingers begin to thread through his hair, and he hummed contentedly.

 

“Well, I feel the same. But everyone needs sleep, Marco.”

 

The fingers paused in their stroking.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I just… I worry. About if either of us… had to go on without the other.”

 

Jean wondered if that worry was what had brought a change on in Marco. His grip tightened a little.

 

“I won’t let that happen.” Jean mumbled into Marco’s skin. He felt the other’s chest jerk as he drew in a shaky breath.

 

“But if it did? If I had to go on without you, or… or the other way around?”

 

Jean raised his head to meet Marco’s eyes.

 

“I…” Jean couldn’t think of a single word to extinguish the anguish in Marco’s eyes.

 

“Just promise you won’t lose hope. No matter what happens.”

 

“I won’t.” He moved his hand to stroke the side of Marco’s face. “We’ll always have this. This memory can’t die.”

 

Jean settled his head back onto Marco’s chest, who began stroking his head once more.

 

“I forgot to ask.” Jean mumbled, on the brink of sleep. “What’s the bandage on your arm for?”

 

Marco stiffened for less than a second, making Jean wonder if he had simply imagined it.

 

“Just scratched my arm breaking a window. It’s fine. Go to sleep, Jean.”

 

“Ah. Yessir.”

 

The steady rhythm of Marco’s heart followed him into his dreams.

 

Th-thump.

 

Th-thump.

 

***

 

When Jean woke up, it was dark, and the bed was cold.

 

The sun had set some time ago.

 

He stretched his fingers out, seeking Marco’s warmth, but found only the empty sheets. Sitting up, he blinked at the darkness enveloping him.

 

“Marco?”

 

He turned so that his feet hung over the side of the bed, putting a hand out to support himself. He heard a faint rattle.

 

His hand clenched around what felt like a sheet of paper.

 

Fumbling for a torch, he held the paper up to his eyes, to find it covered in what was undeniably Marco’s handwriting. He began to read, a deep sense of dread washing over him.

 

_Jean_

_I wanted to say goodbye to you. I wanted to so badly. I know, no matter how hard I tried, that this day couldn’t count as goodbye, not really, but it will have to do. Because I know that if I said it to you, told you what I was doing, you would have stopped me. There wasn’t enough time to explain. There was a lot of things there wasn’t the time for._

_I was bitten, Jean. I can feel it coming as I write this, feel the need coursing through my veins. I can’t explain it. I’m hungry, Jean. But I can’t eat. I mustn’t._  
  
My thoughts are getting slower, my head hurts, and I feel hot, so hot. You would have made a dumb joke if I’d said that to you, like “not as hot as me!” or something. But I have to stop thinking about things you would have done. I have to be the one to leave again.

_I’m not going to be like Marie. I’m not going to let myself- what’s left of me- hurt anyone. I’m going to go somewhere peaceful where I can finish this in dignity. Don’t come looking for me, Jean. I don’t want you to see anything._

_You have to keep going. Remember your promise. Don’t give up. Go on._

_You’re asleep right now. I don’t dare say goodbye, not out loud. I can’t risk waking you. But I’m thinking it. And I’m also thinking that I love you._

_I love you, Jean. And I’m so sorry._

_Stay strong. For me._  
  


_Marco._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh noes


	15. He Was Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight.

Marco sat under the old oak tree in the corner of the school grounds where he had spoken to Jean for the first time so long ago. The sky was clouded over and the beginnings of dawn were slowly lighting the world up around him. He lay back against the trunk, his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the breeze as it cooled his feverish skin.

 

In his right hand he held the gun.

 

He had been lucky to find it; Jean must have missed it during his raid of the shooting range.

 

His head was hurting badly now.

 

But he would not do it until the last minute; he wouldn’t waste a second of his life, not if he could help it.

 

He looked up at the leaves, listening to them rustle and whisper.

 

He savoured each second as the change built up within him.

 

Every so often he would catch a glimpse of his skin, which had paled to the point of looking almost like paper, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast.

 

He closed his eyes, his head becoming too sore to do much more than drift. In his mind he spun through the last few days, picking out his favourite moments, as simple as waking up in the night to hear Jean’s breathing, or their hands brushing against each other unconsciously. A dozen or so little moments, but still Marco wasn’t satisfied.

 

He had wanted more time with Jean; he should have gotten more…

 

Pain in his hand.

 

Marco looked down, to see a ring of teeth marks on the side of his hand. His mouth was warm with the metallic taste of blood.

 

He had… he had _bitten himself._

 

Marco fumbled for the gun. He was closer to losing his mind than he had thought.

 

He raised it, shaking, to his head, eyes still closed.

 

Two birds that had been sitting in the branches suddenly took off, startled. A second later he realised why. The sound of feet slamming against the pavement that ran past the school grounds was growing louder by the second.

 

“MARCO!”

 

Rage flooded Marco’s veins. He had wanted to do this alone, in peace. He hadn’t wanted him to see. But then again, that was so like Jean.

 

“FUCK OFF, JEAN!”

 

“NO!”

 

Marco turned in time to see Jean crashing into the railings, before bouncing off and heading for the gate.

 

Marco was on his feet, running to the other side of the school gates.

 

“Stop where you are!” He held the gun up.

 

“Or what, you’ll shoot me? Yeah right, Marco.” Jean took a step forwards.

 

Marco’s heart stopped, before he got a new idea. He fumbled with the gun, holding it up to his own head.

 

“Don’t come closer! I’ll do it!”

 

Jean’s face went white.

 

“Marco. Marco please.” His voice changed in an instant from yelling to pleading. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way.”

 

“That’s bullshit, Jean. You can’t make things turn out the way you want just by _hoping._ If there’s one thing I learnt from…finding Marie, it’s that.” His hand shook. “I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want you to _see,_ you bastard! But you _had_ to turn up! How did you even find me?”

 

“I got lucky! Maybe it’s fate, dropping a huge fucking hint that maybe you shouldn’t do this!”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Jean. Please. Please just let me do this on my own.” As much as he hated himself for it, he felt his eyes begin to fill with tears. “I don’t want you to have to see my death, you don’t need any more memories like that…”

 

He paused to wipe at his eyes with his hand, but it was opportunity enough for Jean. He launched forwards in desperation, and the extra inch or so of height that Marco had over him did nothing to stop Jean tackling him to the ground.

 

“Why… do you insist… on being so damn… _noble?_ ” Jean grunted, forcing Marco’s hands above his head. The gun was still in Marco’s hand, but now it was trapped uselessly under the force of Jean’s grip.

 

“Jean… Jean, you have to listen to me… what’s your plan here? Like, sure, you’ve got me pinned, now what? You can’t hold me here forever. And really soon… I’m going to _change_ , and I’m going to try to hurt you.” His eyes were watering again, but he forced himself to meet Jean’s eyes. He had to get through to him. “You have to let me do it. I can’t become one of _them_.”

 

He watched in agony as Jean crumbled. Marco knew he had to die, and that hurt. But watching Jean come slowly, unwillingly, but at last to this conclusion hurt too. He had found the resolve to actually carry it out, but now he was watching the effect his actions were having, and his resolve was weakening. There was no option in which Jean wasn’t hurt. It was impossible.

 

“Marco…” Jean’s head came down until his forehead was resting against Marco’s, his voice trembling. “I can’t lose you again. Don’t leave me.”

 

Marco could no longer tell whose tears were whose.

 

His grip on the gun went slack, as did the pressure on his wrists from Jean. He used this new freedom not to scramble for the weapon, but instead to bring his hands up to Jean’s head, first cupping his face before threading through his hair until he finally hooked his arms around Jean’s neck.

 

He wasn’t sure if the kiss that followed was a blessing or a curse. Kind of like everything that had happened to him over the last week or so.

 

Jean stroked his thumb across Marco’s damp cheek, his breaths heavy against Marco’s.

 

As Jean’s tongue slid over Marco’s, something in his mind flexed.

 

Something that wasn’t Marco.

 

He pushed Jean off him.

 

The last thing he saw was the look on Jean’s face.

 

Confusion. Hurt. Fear. Pain.

 

He could have been looking into a mirror.

 

Then he was gone.

 

***

 

“Marco?”

 

No reaction.

 

“Marco?” Jean tried again.

 

The creature that had once been Marco leapt.

 

***

 

Blood coated one side of Jean’s face, and it felt as though he had cracked two, maybe three, of his ribs. His breaths were shortening, and every muscle burned with exhaustion.

 

He’d been fighting for what felt like hours. He couldn’t keep going forever. He just couldn’t.

 

“Marco. Marco, if you can hear me in there…”

 

Jean looked into those blank brown eyes.

 

He couldn’t think of a way to finish the sentence.

 

He choked back a sob.

 

For what felt like the millionth time, it pounced.

 

This time Jean was floored, and he struggled to hold the face away from his, so close he could make out each freckle.

 

It was a matter of inches.

 

Jean felt the cool metal of the gun he snatched from where it had been dropped in his hand.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

He pulled the trigger.

 

***

 

He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t dare, not until he had run, as far as he could, on feet that didn’t feel like they had even touched the pavement.

 

***

 

Had it been a kill shot?

Had it been a kill shot?

Had it been a kill shot?

 

***

 

That question burns, but there’s another one, a question he can’t put into words but sees imprinted on his eyelids on the rare occasions when he closes his eyes.

 

Eyes that flash for less than a second.

 

With something warm. Something understanding.

 

Before he pulled the trigger.

 

Jean burns.

 

***

 

_He stands on the outer wall of the Base wall watching the sun sink in the sky. The darkness creeps over the landscape, but that doesn’t bother Jean. He’s used to the dark now._

_“Are you coming?” Mikasa asks._

_“Hmm?” Jean isn’t listening, and doesn’t pretend otherwise._

_“We’re heading back out there. To Eren’s old house. We think there’s something… something in the basement. Something that might explain things. Change things, too.”_

_Jean taps his fingers thoughtfully on his rifle._

_“We’re leaving at sunrise with Levi’s lot. You have until then to decide.” Mikasa turns to leave._

_“I’m joining the survey corps.”_

_Mikasa stops. For a moment she is silent._

_“You sound like Eren.”_

_“I made a promise once. That I wouldn’t give up hope.” He turns to face Mikasa. “I’m keeping that promise.”_

_“Good.”_

_Jean turns back to the skyline. The sun is gone. But that doesn’t mean it won’t return._

_“I still have hope, Mikasa. For him.”_

_Once again Mikasa falls silent._

_“Some hope is good, Jean. But having hope where there is none…”_

_“There isn’t none. I will never believe that. As long as I have hope, I can fight.”_

_Fight for him. Fight to find him. Fight to fix him._

_It sounds impossible. He doesn’t even know if there is anything left to save. But he has to try._

_For Marco._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ain't over till it's over.


	16. 28 Weeks Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter exists because of a big change of heart on my part.  
> Thanks for talking me into it.  
> And so, back by popular demand...

_“…can’t yet be sure if the serum will work; it’s still in the early stages of testing, but with the help of the Yeager mission’s findings…things are changing. The test subject you found could be the first. The first to go back. There’s every reason to hope…”_

_A pause. A new voice._

_“I think he’s waking up.”_

_He is._

_“Marco?” The voice is tentative._

_Marco opens his eyes. The room is bright, but not as bright as the man in front of him._

_“…Jean?”_

_Jean smiles at him through his tears, a smile that burns in the most beautiful way._

_“Hello, Marco.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day the mood will perhaps take me to write a prequel and/or sequel to this.   
> Until then, thank you, and  
> -in the most ironic way possible -   
> goodbye!


End file.
